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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717572">A Forging of Alliances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/David___Y/pseuds/David___Y'>David___Y</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The War for the Dawn [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sansa Stark, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Ghost is a Good Boy (ASoIaF), Independent North (ASoIaF), Jaime Lannister Redemption, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is King in the North, King Jon Snow, King's Landing, Moat Cailin (ASoIaF), POV Multiple, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Political Jon Snow, Political Sansa Stark, Queen Cersei Lannister, R Plus L Equals J | Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are Jon Snow's Parents, Rewrite, Scars, Season 7 rewrite, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Stark-centric (ASoIaF), Swearing, The North (ASOIAF), The Red Keep (ASoIaF), Torture, Violence, War, Winterfell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:48:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>110,091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/David___Y/pseuds/David___Y</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter is here and the realm is divided.</p><p>Eddard Stark's bastard son, Jon Snow, has been named King in the North by the bannermen who were once his father's and has taken the Stark name. Having won the Battle of the Bastards, he must prepare his kingdom for war while playing his own game of thrones. His strongest ally is also his most dangerous enemy. Lord Petyr Baelish seeks to replace the King in the North with his own sister, Sansa Stark.</p><p>Meanwhile in the South, Daenerys Stormborn has landed in Dorne, her gaze locked on the city of King's Landing and the Queen sitting the Iron Throne, Cersei Lannister, who is struggling to keep hold of the realm she claims to rule over. Her desturction of the Great Sept has led to the smallfolk of Westeros despising her. Even her own brother's loyality is beginning to falter thanks to the destroying of the Great Sept leading to the suicide of his nephew, Tommen Baratheon.</p><p>Arya Stark wanders the realm, leaving death in her wake, hunted by the Freys &amp; Lannisters. She seeks to cross the last three names off her list, but to do so, she must go into the Lion's Den.</p><p>The army of the dead approaches the Wall, following Brandon Stark, who is now the Three-Eyed Raven.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alys Karstark/Sigorn, Cersei Lannister &amp; Jaime Lannister, Jon Snow &amp; Bran Stark &amp; Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Meera Reed/Bran Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The War for the Dawn [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>238</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So Season 7 &amp; 8 were fucking atrocious pieces of televsion. How do you fuck up that badly? I know. Put two incompetent hack writers in charge of your show.</p><p>To give my history with the show, I first heard of it back in 2013, I think: I remember hearing about there being 3 Seasons and watching the first of the Honest Trailers. Until 2019 I was simply just aware of it and had the intention of watching it at some point. It was when Season 8 released that I showed more interest. By that time I was quite the fan of a podcast called 'Every Frame a Pause' run by 3 guys called MauLer, Rags and Wolf. MauLer &amp; Wolf both were watching the show and they're reactions were the same as most other people.</p><p>I had an outsider perspective of the shitshow that was the last four episodes as they were airing. So, from that point on I was perfectly aware of what I would be getting into by watching the show. I watched the videos MauLer made ripping the 8th season apart and listened to the podcasts he made talking about it. It wasn't until Christmas that year, when I got the mainline books, that I became a fan of the series. I read all of the books in five months, reading the last 140 pages of Dance in a day. If your curious as to my take, it's as lukewarm as you can imagine: I prefer the books. If you're curious, from favourite to least favourite (not best to worst, there's a difference), these are my rankings for the books: 1, 3, 5, 2, 4. Best to worst would be: 3, 1, 2, 5, 4.</p><p>I watched the show in 2020: Season 1 at the beginning of March, Season 2 &amp; 3 in mid April, Season 4 after I had read up to 'The Blind Girl' at some point in May, 5 &amp; 6 after I finished Dance toward the end of May. 7 &amp; 8 I watched over two days in the 2nd week of June. I cannot put into words the utter disppointment I felt when Ramin Djawdi's spectacular music played over that incredibly bungled ending. If the world was just, Dan &amp; Dave would never work in entertainment again. I know I could go on for ages about how much I despise the last two seasons, as well as season 5, 6 and parts of 2,3 &amp; 4, but that's not what you're here for.</p><p>I'd started to write notes for this rewrite before I watched 7 &amp; 8 because I was anticipating the motivation I'd get to write versions of them that weren't shit. So strap in, avid reader. This is my gift to those who felt rightly betrayed by those last two seasons. I will be releasing a Season 8 rewrite after this which will be a direct sequel to this Season 7 rewrite (obviously).</p><p>As it stands I have not yet finish the first draft of the Season 8 rewrite so all I can say is prepare for a staggered release. I cannot be certain when I will be done with each chapter, but I will promise to get them out as quickly as I physically can. There's a lot of work to be done and I'm a one man army at the moment. I don't know if there are any of you out there who would like to be beta readers, but by all means let me know. It will certainly help make sure this rewrite is as good as it can be.</p><p>Thank you for reading this monster of an author's note. Please enjoy the rewrite.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Freys plan the hunt for Lord Walder's murderer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Prologue</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He poured himself his fifth cup of spiced dornish red, raised the goblet to his lips and swallowed slowly. The taste was sweet and strong, burning his throat some but not near as much as the black spiced rum from the Summer Islands that they had in the cellars. The wine accompanied a thick stew populated by chunks of diced beef, carrot, potato, turnip &amp; onion, all swimming in a thick broth made using the fat that would have leaked out from the meat while it was boiled. Such was the meal he and his kin were eating.</p><p class="western">“Mother would tell you not to drink so much,” his son Edwyn said, a measure of concern in his tone. The lad was nearly a man grown and leaned more toward being comely compared to rest of his Frey kin. Ryman had always been surprised that such a good looking lad had been sired from his own loins.</p><p class="western">“Well she's been dead since Petyr came screaming into the world, so shut your trap,” Ryman replied harshly. No matter how much he tried to act differently, Ryman always grew sad when his wife was brought up. The woman had given him Edywn, Walder and Petyr – who was a parting gift of sorts – alongside fifthteen comfortable years of marriage: during which he had found his happiest memories. But he had another family member to grieve for now.</p><p class="western">Lord Walder Frey had been found dead a week ago, his throat cut from ear to ear and a pie made of human flesh on the table in front of him. Ryman had been out collecting taxes from the nearby farmers when the messenger came to him the day after the murder, bearing news that his grandsire was dead. He'd left capable men in charge of the tax collecting before pushing his horse into a hard gallop to arrive back at the Twins before nightfall. By the time he'd returned, the human flesh in the pie had been identified as Lame Lothar's &amp; Black Walder's: they had gone missing the morning of Lord Frey's murder. Ryman had wasted no time establishing himself as the new Lord of the Crossing, being the rightful heir; there were plenty of Freys who would try and steal the position from him. Following that, he took control of the investigation into his grandsire's death. His inquires had led him to the conclusion that the most likely culprite was a serving wench, brown of hair &amp; eye, who had brought Lord Walder his lunch that day: lunch being the pie made from Lame Lothar &amp; Black Walder. The serving wench had disappeared the day of the murder and Ryman would be damned if she was going to make it out of the Riverlands alive.</p><p class="western">That was the point of this gathering: planning the search. Of course, they could not do it on empty stomachs.</p><p class="western">Ryman sat at the high table in the chair meant for the Lord of the Crossing; its back fashioned into the twins towers of House Frey. To his right was his heir, Edwyn. To his left sat his brother, Walton; who he trusted the most out of his kinsman, beside his three sons. Also at the high table sat kinsmen who were as well respsected amongst Freys as Freys could get: his half-uncles, Ser Jared &amp; Ser Hosteen, as well as his half-cousins Symond &amp; Ser Raymun. He trusted them somewhat, but mainly they were sitting in places of honour because Ryman needed them to support his claim as Lord. Along with the rest of the gathered Freys, they were eating the same thick stew that the cooks had decided to make for them tonight. As they ate, Ryman scanned the room for faces, to see if any of his kinsmen had neglected to attend.</p><p class="western">One had.</p><p class="western">Ryman caught the attention of a passing serving wench, brown of hair and blue eyed. He could not help but wonder how many of his kinsmen she had let shove their cocks inside her. It was likely that every serving wench in this hall had slept with at least one the of the men they were serving.</p><p class="western">“Girl, do you know where Ser Arwood is?” Ryman asked as curtly as he could.</p><p class="western">“Far as I know, he took dinner in 'is solar. Cooked 'is own meal for 'imself, 'is wife &amp; 'is children, m'lord,” she answered in a clear tone.</p><p class="western">
  <em>That bastard.</em>
</p><p class="western">“Thank you, girl.” The serving girl bent her knee a bit to curtsy, before returning to her duties. He leaned toward Walton and whispered, “Remind me to give Arwood a bollocking once this meeting is done.” Walton grunted his acknowledgement.</p><p class="western">Arwood had always been a prickly bastard since the Red Weeding had been thought of, planned and enacted. From the beginning he disapproved of it. Him and a number of the younger Freys had refused to take part and ever since became the black sheep amoung the Frey flock. But at least the other lads who'd refused to take part in the Red Wedding had turned up to this meeting, the meeting where they would plan bringing the old patriarch's killer to justice. Because of Arwood's absence, he may very well have lost his place at The Twins; the deciding factor would be how he responded to Ryman's chastisement.</p><p class="western">When all the stew was swallowed, a chorus of belches filled the room. It told Ryman that now was the time to speak to his kinsmen concerning the matter at hand. He pushed his chair away from the table with his legs &amp; his arse then stood as he held onto the table's edge, steadying himself; the wine having done what wine does. Slamming his wooden goblet upon the high table – <em>Bang! Bang! BANG! –</em> he gained the attention of his kinsmen.</p><p class="western">“Kinsmen,” he bellowed after the room had gone quiet. “We sit here today a week following the death of our Patriarch, the Great Walder Frey, who was murdered in this very room. It was his efforts that led to the Freys of the Crossing becoming the strongest house in the Riverlands and one of the most feared in all of Westeros.” A small cheer went up in respect. “Now we must track down the bitch who killed him.</p><p class="western">“From the questions I've put to all who were in this tower at the time of the murder, I have come to the conclusion that the culprite is a serving wench who worked here some years now. The Seven only know why she chose now to commit murder but that is not what I gathered you all here to find out. Starting as soon as possible, you lot and I will be sweeping the Riverlands with all our strength to find this bitch and put her to knife &amp; flame. She will suffer for what she's done. It is a stain on the family's honour on the same level as when the Young Wolf spurned our fine women for the forgien bitch from Volantis who got a knife in her whore belly. If anyone has any suggestions for how we might go about tracking this murdering bitch down, now is the time to voice them.”</p><p class="western">A flurry of calls came at him, near all inaudible in the sea of voices they were a part of. Ryman slammed his goblet again, yelling, “One at a time! One at a time!” before he could make them settle. The ideas they gave him were the best he could hope for: ten stags to any person who can give them any good information, sending out men to make camp on all borders of the Riverlands (both on and off road), clearing out any villages that she could of reached and be hiding in by now. Honestly, it was all Ryman expected.</p><p class="western">Some simpleton suggested calling upon help from the Iron Throne. To which he replied, “Are you daft? Jaime Lannister just came up here to help us retake Riverrun from that cunt the Blackfish. Do you honestly think he would be arsed to haul his army back up here to help hunt some serving wench? How do expect House Frey to gain the respect it deserves if every time we run into trouble, we call upon the Lannisters to help us? If we can't hunt this bitch down and show what happens to people who cross House Frey, then we will become a laughing stock to the people we are supposed to be ruling over and those who would look down on us for being one of the younger great houses.” The simpleton retreated into his wine cup.</p><p class="western">The suggestions continued to come for the better part of ten mintues. Good ones he praised, shit ones he chastised, ones that were middle of the road he said would be put into consideration. With the rate the ideas were coming, Ryman was sure that they would be in this meeting for the better part of the night, hashing out the plan as to how they were going to find the bitch who killed Lord Walder.</p><p class="western">He lost count of how many times the serving girls filled his own wine cup &amp; the wine cups of his kinsmen. He didn't fail to note the brunette who'd told him about Arwood. <em>She's comely enough. Perhaps I'll ask if she wouldn't being bedded by the Lord of the Crossing. If a bastard is in her belly afterwards, I'll care for it as one of my trueborn sons. </em>That thought about a possible bastard made Ryman realise he'd had enough to drink. He made a promise to the Seven and on his wife's grave that he would never seek to replace her or sire any children that he didn't share with her.</p><p class="western">And all this ran through his head as he began to cough.</p><p class="western">The first cough was passed off as normal: a tickle of the throat causes by a speck of food, freeing itself from his teeth only to make its way down to his stomach. He didn't bother to cover his mouth, instead stealing a sip of water from Edwyn's wooden tumbler. While Ryman told Edwyn he could drink all the wine he liked, he preferred plain water, boiled so it was not too cold.</p><p class="western">The second cough he covered his mouth for. It was decidedly more violent than the first, causing his upper body to lurch forward a fraction as his chest did its work. He did his best to listen to the suggestion being made, but the Frey who was making it decided to stop mid-sentence as Ryman continued to cough. He felt the warm hand of Edwyn on his shoulder, accomapnied by Edwyn saying, “Are you alright, father?”</p><p class="western">Ryman waved him off, said, “Yes, I'm fine,” and sat back down before more coughs came from those gathered. One, then two, then three, then four, so on and so forth, the gathered Freys began to cough; softly at first, only getting more violent. <em>Something is wrong. </em>Horror took hold of Ryman when even Edwyn began to hack up phlegm. Ryman nearly didn't hear a blonde serving girl as she began to address the room while other serving girls simply stared on in fear at the dying men:</p><p class="western">“My Lords of Frey,” she began, “I do hope you enjoyed the stew.” Her tone was angry, smuggness lying underneath.</p><p class="western">“What have you done, you bitch?” Ryman demanded of the wench, lurching over the table was blood began to come up with each of his violent coughs.</p><p class="western">“Only what you deserve for the atrousity that was commited here. Butchered a woman pregnant with her babe. Cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughted your guests after inviting them into your home and giving them bread &amp; salt.” She pulled a piece of leather out of her apron's pocket. She had moved to the centre of the room and held the leather up for him to see. Only then did he realise it was a face. “You wanted the wench who killed your patriarch, there she is.” She threw the face toward the high table, sounding like thin leather when it landed on the wooden dais. Beside him, Edwyn was coughing massive amounts of blood. Ryman looked at his eldest son. His eyes those of a scared boy looking to his father for help.</p><p class="western">“Father,” he managed. “Help m–” Edwyn coughed one last time before going limp. He fell onto his chair and stumbled to the ground. Dead.</p><p class="western">Ryman stared hard at the blonde. “Who are you, you fucking bitch? My boy had nothing to do with the Red Wedding.”</p><p class="western">“And my mother had nothing to do with King Robb's choice to marry the woman he married.” The girl grabbed the flesh at the base of her neck and pulled. As if like a mask, the face parted from her head and once it had parted completely, the one she had underneath was much different: long with grey eyes &amp; brown hair. “Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe.” Her voice had changed. “The North remembers, My Lord, the North remembers. Winter has come for House Frey.”</p><p class="western">With that, the bitch turned toward the doors, but didn't reach them before guardsmen came crashing through. Ryman watched as she slunked pass them. The last of his strength was leaving him. His ears burst and the world went silent, pain biting into the sides of his skull. Hot blood trickled down the sides of his head and a warm wave passed over him. <em>At least I will be with my boy. </em>A painful, ironic chuckle escaped his lips; he felt it but did not hear it. Perhaps that same thought had passed through Catelyn Stark's head as Black Walder had cut her throat. <em>You best avenage us Arwood. </em>The last thing Ryman felt was his arm sliping across the table and the table coming up to meet him.</p><p class="western">The world went dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Eddison I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Winter comes to Castle black.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Eddison</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They were surrounded by the dead, a swarm of wights flooding their ranks. The blizzard the White Walkers had summoned filled the air around them. Every breath was painfully cold and frozen sweat crusted on his clothes. Edd could not see the dragons flying overhead, but he could hear them: great leather wings beating against the air, mouths breathing fire onto the dead men attacking the living. Edd skewered another wight with his dragonglass sword, the withered skeleton falling to pieces on the snow covered floor. He was amoung other soldiers who supported each other on all sides by fighting their own opponents. However, the only respite he could find was knowing Sam was close by.</p><p class="western">Turning around to find his friend, Edd heard a scream. A wight had jumped on top of him in the frenzy and was going for the big lad's throat. Without thinking, Edd plunged his sword down into the wight, making sure the amount of force he used would not harm Sam. He pulled the new corpse off his friend easily as it was mostly bones covered by decaying flesh &amp; a handful of rags; it would have smelt awful had it not been frozen. Sam looked terrified having been so close to death. Edd stuck out his hand to pull his friend up from the ground. “Sam!” Edd yelled to be heard over the noise of the battle. “Get up!”</p><p class="western">Sam took Edd's hand and they worked together to bring the larger of them to his feet. Their chests heaved together, ragged breathes escaping and entering their lungs. Their expressions turned blank as they stared into each other's eyes. Then he felt the rusted blade plunge through furs, into his back. Skin tore &amp; bone parted. A warm wave washed over him. Edd let out a breath. The stone walls and cold air of his bedchamber were a welcome sight after his nightmare.</p><p class="western">His scream was subdued, but it was still a scream: like to be heard by anyone close by. These nightmares had been plaguing him since Hardhome – growing ever more frequent in recent weeks – and it worried him. He needed sleep. It wouldn't bode well if the White Walkers so happened to appear the other side of the wall one day and Edd was too tired to fight them. The role of Acting Commander of the Night's Watch had fallen to him when Jon had mounted his horse and left Castle Black to help his sister retake Winterfell. Edd took to his duties with the sense of responiblilty that would be expected of him. It had been gruelling and stessful so far, but he had the respect of the men; making the job easier at the very least.</p><p class="western">Edd pushed off his duvet and stepped out of bed. The hard wooden floor felt cold through his socks. He dressed in fresh smallclothes, boiled leather and well-worn boots. His black, woolen cloak went around his shoudlers and he let out a breath, ready for another day in the Night's Watch.</p><p class="western">Stepping out onto the wooden walkway that cirled the main barracks of Castle Black, Edd noticed that dawn had yet to come. It was dark and the grey sky was dropping snow intently, piling it has high as Edd's ankels. Despite most of Castle Black slummbering at this hour of the morning – the guards on the gate &amp; atop the Wall being the only people who needed to spend the night awake – you could always count on Hobb to be up and working the kitchen, ready for breakfast.</p><p class="western">The castle's cook brought Edd two rashers of black bacon, a fried egg with a runny yolk and a chunk of brown bread before sitting at one of the lower tables of the hall to talk as they broke their fast. “When are you going to call a choosing?” Hobb asked as he stirred his porridge in attempt to break up a nasty lump. “A man can't be Acting Commander forever.”</p><p class="western">“Once we get word of Jon,” Edd said quickly. He'd made the decision ages ago. “The last word we recieved was that he was camping close to the caslte and was soon to engage the Boltons. He could come back after he's done with Winterfell leaving his sister to run the North.” <em>And he could have died again and the red woman was unable to bring him back.</em></p><p class="western">“How likely do you think that is after how he reacted to being brought back? I mean, he was dead. That's gotta change a man. He found something to distract him but once that thing's done with, who's to say he won't lose it?”</p><p class="western">“Don't say that. The last thing I want to think about is Jon losing his mind. He knows he'll always have a place here.” Suddenly the door to the hall opened with the grind of rusted iron. Edd &amp; Hobb looked to see Clydas, the new First Steward. He was short, slumped, near bald with weak, pink eyes and carrying a white raven on the top of his fist. “Oh fuck.”</p><p class="western">“Indeed, Commander,” the steward answered quietly, placing the bird on the table. It stretched out its wings and the three of them simply stared.</p><p class="western">“Jon's family is always right eventually,” Hobb stated bluntly.</p><p class="western">“Aye,” Edd agreed as he mopped up the yolk of his egg with the bread. “Winter is here, lads.”</p><p class="western">And the news was met with quiet when he announced it to the rest of his brothers, after the castle woke. The rest of the day consisted of the clatter of swords filling the yard and men going about their daily duties. Edd trained with his men. Some were sloppy. Some were competent. All of them needed improvement. He needed improvement. Edd's mind wondered to Jon once again, how he would always be in the yard helping his brothers fine tune their swordplay. Edd hoped for a word from his friend, but it was entirely possible that Jon could have been defeated by Ramsay Bolton. Edd's worry grew with that thought.</p><p class="western">For the next two weeks, Edd made sure Castle Black was suited for winter. Food allowance was cut back. Water &amp; ale allowance was cut back. Firewood allowance was cut back. They would need every last scrap of meat, drop of water and chunk of wood in order to make it through this winter, should it turn out to be as long and cold as the Maesters were saying. It was on the last day of that second week that a rider arrived at Castle Black bearing a banner with the direwolf of Stark and a scroll intended for Edd.</p><p class="western">He immediately told everyone to fill the hall so that he could read the message to his men. Sitting at the high table was Clydas, First Ranger Kedge Whiteye and First Builder Halder – all of which he'd named soon after Jon's departure. Kedge was middle-aged with a blind left eye and a mean right one. He'd been on the Wall since he was ten so Edd couldn't think of a better man to fill the role of First Ranger from amoung those still avalible to the Watch. Halder was young, but muscular thanks to having been an apprentice stonemason. Edd had chosen him because he trusted him. Hitting the table with his mug, Edd got the men occupying the hall to quiet from the many conversations they were partaking in.</p><p class="western">“Brothers, this scroll is from Lord Commander Snow. I ask all of you to remain quiet while I read,” he said before breaking the white wax seal then stretching out the rolled parchment. “'The battle is won. Winterfell is taken. I have been named King in the North by the bannermen of House Stark. With this new position I can do more good for the Night's Watch than I can from Caslte Black. As such, I have decided not to abandon the role of Lord Commander, fulfiling it from Winterfell. I will return to Castle Black in time, transporting men and supplies to help the Night's Watch. Please send a reply soon. Signed Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North.'” The crowd entered upheaval. He heard many voices utter the word 'deserter' while others appeared much more positive about the message that Edd had read out. A select few seemed completely indifferent. Edd, again, banged his mug on the table, causing the upheaval to end. “Quiet, all of you.”</p><p class="western">“He's a deserter,” a sworn brother called. “We should ride to Winterfell and call for his head.”</p><p class="western">“He took a vow,” another called. “ The Lords of the North support the Night's Watch, surely they should have known better than to crown him.”</p><p class="western">“Alright, settle down, settle down, “ Kedge shouted, his voice filling the room.</p><p class="western">“Thank you, First Ranger,” Edd said before going on. “I know the vow Jon swore, the vow we all swore. 'I shall hold no lands. I shall wear no crowns.' I agree with those who call him deserter. In a different situation I would be calling for his head, the same as you. But winter is here, the White Walkers could march on the Wall at anytime. Jon is now King of the North and there are less than fifty of us here in Castle Black. Those of you who were at Hardhome know what we're fighting against and being stubborn about what vows we swore doesn't matter compared to what we saw there. Besides, we're in no postion to leave Castle Black to deal with one deserter who will be protected by the armies of the North and has promised to help the Night's Watch. If I know Jon, he'll keep to his word to help us defend the Wall. When we've dealt with the threat we face, we will confront Jon about breaking his vows, but now we need to put things as small as a few broken vows behind us.” The men began to mutter amongst themselves when the noise was pierced by the blast of a horn.</p><p class="western">
  <em>OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-aaaaaaaaa-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!</em>
</p><p class="western">One Blast. Rangers. But no one was ranging.</p><p class="western">
  <em>OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-aaaaaaaaa-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!</em>
</p><p class="western">Two. Wildlings. But Jon had brought them to the other side of the Wall. Whatever ones hadn't been on the boats had died.</p><p class="western">Edd closed his eyes and waited for a third blast, dreading a third blast. It would mean the White Wakers were here. But there was no third blast. The horn blower repeated the two blasts as Edd left the main hall and briskly walked down into the yard. He marched for the tunnel, barking the order, “Open the gate.”</p><p class="western">The metal gate slowly rose, the chains grinding as they pulled. Edd was followed by Kedge and three other sworn brothers. They walked under the southern gate and all the way down the icy tunnel to the opposite ene. It was lit by torches lining the walls that did nothing to help the cold. The ice around them seemed to be pressing in on them. One of the sworn borthers gave the signal to open the gate on the north end of the tunnel. It ascended with the clacker of the chain and grinding of steel. White light bled into the tunnel along with soft, powdery snow. Edd was surprised by what he saw.</p><p class="western">There was no horde of wildlings, angry and roaring, intent on forcing themselves to the other side. Just a girl, wrapped in furs, with a head full of long, curly hair the colour brown and a boy in a sledge being pulled by a rope, his head covered by short brown hair that looked like a bowl. He did not look very comfortable.</p><p class="western">“Who are you?” Edd asked puzzled by the sight before him. “Wildlings?” He wasn't sure of it himself. The two carried themselves better than any wildling he'd met.</p><p class="western">The girl spoke calmly after a gulp. She looked worried. “My name is Meera Reed of Greywater Watch.” She looked to the boy in the sledge. “And this is Brandon Stark of Winterfell.”</p><p class="western">“Brandon Stark?” Edd repeated, raising his brow. “Jon Snow's brother?” Edd could believe it. The boy looked a bit like Jon.</p><p class="western">“Yes,” the boy replied. “Is he here? I need to speak to him.”</p><p class="western">“No. He's at Winterfell and has been named King in the North.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Before you leave a comment about Jon being released from his Night's Watch vows, wait until you've read further in the story. This is the first chapter of a story that's going to be over fifty chapters long when it's finished. There is plenty of time for things that seem like issues now to be cleared up later on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Lone Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arya flees the Twins.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>The Lone Wolf</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Once Arya had told the Lord of the Crossing that winter had come for House Frey, she had a difficult time leaving said Crossing. The guardsmen who'd clattered their way into the great hall had all been clad in boiled leather &amp; light plate with arming swords their belts. She slipped a dirk out of a concealed scabbard and cut two of their throats before slipping through the gap, doing her best to avoid the grasping hands that sought her clothing. Running in a dress of any description was difficult; being chased only added to that difficulty. Regardless, she pushed on through the corridors of the Western Twin.</p>
<p class="western">Guards who spotted her were confused at first as to why a serving girl was running through the corridors with hands covered in blood, but when they saw the guards in pursuit, their confusion quickly disappeared and Arya had to outrun yet another Frey guardsman. From behind, they'd yelled to people in front, “Grab her!” People made attempt to follow the order but failed when she side-stepped or slid underneath their arm. Swift and quick as the wind Arya was; she wasn't going to let the Freys kill her like they had her brother and mother.</p>
<p class="western">She judged that running through the main doors was not the wisest form of escape, so instead decided to find a room with a window that opened above the river. The castle was in chaos as men searched frantically for the girl who had slaughtered the men in the dining hall. Arya chose her room quickly, shutting the door behind her then closing the blot she was lucky enough to find on it.</p>
<p class="western">It was a small guest room with a bed, small table and wardrobe. To start with, Arya shed herself of the dress she been wearing while posing as a serving girl. Underneath was a good riding tunic and thick breeches. Next she picked the table up by two of the four legs supporting it, before sending the edge of the table's top into the glass of the window. A hammer crashed against bolted door. Sharp, cold air leaked in from outside and the river roared as it pasted underneath the bridge. Arya shivered taking the pillow from the bed and placing it over the remaining shards at the bottom of the window frame. She pushed herself through the opening, thanking the Old Gods that her body was narrow enough to pass through it.</p>
<p class="western">A few moments later, her world became black as a thousand knives stabbed her entire body. Water filled her mouth and the air in her lungs pulled her to the surface of the water. The current had her but it was not as fast as it could have been. She kicked &amp; pushed &amp; spat &amp; swallowed, fighting the cold shock that was threatening to take her. If she couldn't escape the river's hold then she would have poisioned all those men and cut old Walder's throat for nothing. She would never cross off her last three names. She would never make it back North, never see Jon or Sansa or Bran or Rickon again. Never have her hair mussed by a loving hand and called 'Little sister.'</p>
<p class="western">With every bit of energy she could muster, Arya fought the river's current. If she could reach the bank she could escape the river. If she could escape the river then she could find the tree she'd cut her name into the trunk of. If she could find that tree she could dig Needle from the ground that she'd burried it in for safe keeping. If she could find Needle, she would find the money she'd hidden with it and could buy a horse. A horse she could ride South to King's Landing. Once in King's Landing, she could sneak into the Red Keep, assume the role of a maid and kill Cersei, Ilyn Pagne &amp; The Mountain: finishing her list.</p>
<p class="western">The river had a strong grip, but she could escape it. While the night was dark, the faint light of the Moon reflected off of the white snow lining the banks. She was close. If her legs would keep kicking and her blood pumping, she could make it. The only sound was that of the river, hurrying down stream, taking her with it. Time seemed to go by quickly while at same time as streching out for eternity. Arya pushed her body to its limit, lungs burning as if they caged small dragons trying escape. Closer &amp; closer &amp; closer &amp; closer. Arya kept her gaze fixed upon the bank. It drew nearer. Nearer. Nearer. Near enough that she thought she could reach out and touch it. The river bed shallowed beneath her. Arya's legs dropped and pushed her body upright in the water. She fought the current trying to push her over sideways and waded out of the water on to the snow.</p>
<p class="western">Free of the river, Arya let her legs buckle. She fell face first into the snow before rolling over. Her chest rose &amp; fell, her lungs drawing in as much air as they could. Her gaze was upon the black sky, lit by a cresent moon. Puffy clouds loosely scattered the heavens immediately above her, but in the distance they were thick; likely covering the land beneath them with snow.</p>
<p class="western">She remained on the bank for only a few moments before deciding to force herself to move. Getting onto her hands and knees, she crawled to a nearby tree and pulled herself to her feet. Hunting parties would go out to find her. The best way to find the tree she needed to was to head back up river. Back towards the Twins. Right where she didin't want to be. Regardless, she walked on, keeping inside the trees in case any searching parties decided to travel directly alongside the river.</p>
<p class="western">The thick blanket upon the ground was ankle high, slowing her pace and<span> making her feet uncomfortably cold despite being covered by good leather boots. T</span>he river had carried her farther than Arya first thought. This, along her shivering from the cold, made her trek back to the Twins long and miserable. Her tunic was designed to protect the wearer from rain; not snow. For most of the journey she was cursing at herself for not anticipating the weather correctly. She'd seen the sun rise and reach its apex in the sky before she even saw the castle in the distance.</p>
<p class="western">Luckily, no roads ran close to the strech of river bank Arya had to travel; niether had snow fell until middle morning. Her body wanted desperately to rest a number of times, but she pushed forward. If she stopped to rest, the cold would creep up on her. Arya didn't light a fire because of the risk of smoke being seen. Looking into the sky, through the naked tree branches, she saw a red comet – its tail stretching out into the shape of a blade – and vaguely remembered it from when she was travelling with Yoren after her father had been murdered.</p>
<p class="western">When she reached the clearing just outside the Western Twin, Arya watched as Frey soldiers were orgainsed into units. A company of fourteen was travelling down the road leading from the bridge to the south west: the road that her mother &amp; brother rode to their doom. She stayed within the trees until she reached the road. Travelling alongside it eventually led to a crossroads. Still the snow slowed Arya's progress toward her goal. Her teeth chattered &amp; her arms shook. Gooseprickles rose &amp; fell on her skin every few minutes.</p>
<p class="western">Reaching the crossroads, Arya was greeted by a handful of Frey soldiers. There was no way she could take them all or sneak past. She kept to herself, hiding behind a tree until they moved off. It was the whinney of a horse in the far distance that promted the party to move off. Arya siezed the opportunity and moved onto the road. She went into the trees separating the forward road and rightward road, diagonally opposite the trees she'd been hiding amoung. Soon after disappearing into those trees, the Frey horsemen came galloping back from the direction they'd headed and turned to head down the forward road on the crossroads. They were being pursued, it seemed, by horsemen who neglected to bear any heraldry. <em>Outlaws most like.</em></p>
<p class="western">Arya returned to her endeavour, counting the trees until she found the one she'd carved her name into: the letters spikey upon the bark. She began to quickly shove away snow and pull up damp soil. Her fingers were already red &amp; numb from the cold in the air, so picking up fist-fulls of snow and cold dirt did little that could make her more uncomfortable. Soon the bag was unearthed. Arya strapped Needle around her hip and typed the sack around her torso by the hempen rope holding it closed.</p>
<p class="western">Arya returned to the crossroads. While travelling farther away from the road would be safer, she did not want to get lost. Promptly, she began moving alongside the forward road which would take her southwards. The further from the Twins she got the better and the sooner she found a town, the sooner she could buy a horse &amp; a cloak. Every so often, horsemen would pass her, travelling in either direction on the road. When that happened, Arya would find the thickest tree close to her and stand behind it. Normally they would pass without stopping, but one or twice a rider stopped to look in the trees; thinking he'd seen something move. Once they concluded nothing was there, stirrups went into horsefelsh and the rider would continue in their desired direction.</p>
<p class="western">Moving beside the road was simplistic enough until it went into a field. A vast expanse of white stretched for at least another mile ahead of her. The only portion of the snow blanket disturbed was where horses had travelled along the road. The sun was hiding behind the western horison, the sky burning with the colours of orange and bright pink where snow clouds neglected to block it out. The change in scenery presented a difficult choice for Arya: would she cross the field at a slow pace as to not look conspicuous but risk being spotted by a Frey hunting party or would she remain amoung the trees so that she could hide from riders moving along the road.</p>
<p class="western">After some deliberation, Arya decided the risk of being spotted was worth keeping close to the road. None of the guardsmen had gotten a good look at her and the soldiers in search parties probably hadn't even been amoung those guardsmen. If she was come upon, she could feign ignorance and pretend to be someone else. And if she moved off into the trees then she could very well get lost and be wondering the wilderness for days before she found another road. She'd not eaten since mid-afternoon the day before, just as the cooks began to work on the stew being served before the meeting. Slipping poision into those cookpots had been as simple as hanging around the kitchens and waiting for them to be unattended as they simmered. She was glad for the lessons in poision brewing the Faceless Men had given her.</p>
<p class="western">Arya stepped out from the tree line and began to ruin the perfect blanket of snow. Looking to the west, she admired the burning sky. The light would soon die and she'd be stumbling blind until her eyes adjusted. Walking through the vast white plain was incredibly peaceful despite how tense she felt. The light bounced off the ground in such a way that the world was brighter than it would have been in summer; when the ground was a rich green. Memories of her time spent with the Hound filled her mind: when she'd been naïve enough to think that the Gods would let her see her mother and brother for the first time since Winterfell.</p>
<p class="western">Plans filled her head of what to do once she'd crossed the last three names off her list. Arya would ride hard on the Kingsroad all the way North, past Winterfell and all the way to The Wall where Jon was. He'd muss her hair and she'd wrap her arms around him; never letting go. Since she'd arrived in Westeros, she'd heard nothing about what was going on in the north. Unsurprisingly, not many a southerner cared much for what happened north of The Neck. It had been exactly the same when she grew up in the North: if it happened below the Neck only the highborn lords cared for it.</p>
<p class="western">In all her recalling of the past, Arya failed to notice the approaching hoof beats behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a banner bearing the twin towers of House Frey. She returned her gaze to look forward and saw the end of the field: the edge of a new set of trees. Her breathing remained slow and legs the same pace. <em>They'll pass you by if you give them no reason to stop and talk to you. </em><span>The hoof beats got louder &amp; louder before they slowed &amp; softened. They came to a complete stop before a gruff voice spoke.</span></p>
<p class="western">“Girl!” it spat, clearly directed at her. Cursing under her breath, she reluctantly turned to face the speaker: a clean shaven, black haired man wearing good plate steel and a longsword on his right hip. “Where are you headed?”</p>
<p class="western">“The nearest town,” she replied through chattering teeth, “wherever it might be.”</p>
<p class="western">“And why aren't you wearing a cloak? You seem ill prepared for cross-country.”</p>
<p class="western">“For all you know I don't feel the cold.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then why are you shivering?” Arya scanned his company. Nine other mounted soldiers wearing chainmail, light plate or just gambeson; armed with spear, longsword &amp; axe. “Can I ask your name, girl?”</p>
<p class="western">“Jeyne,” she lied. “Can I ask yours?”</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Brendon Jyles.”</p>
<p class="western">“I've seen a lot of horsemen today. Why are you scouting the Riverlands?”</p>
<p class="western">“If you must know, last night a great number of Freys were poisoned by a gril believed to be Arya Stark. Why do you carry a sword?”</p>
<p class="western">“My brother gave it to me for when boys my age try to claim something that's not theirs.”</p>
<p class="western">“A good brother then. What is his name?”</p>
<p class="western">“Jon.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya watched the man's face change; scrunching up to suggest suspicion. “Jon Snow. Ned Stark's bastard.”</p>
<p class="western">“Last time I checked, Jon was quite a common name. Why would you think I was related to the bastard son of a traitor?” Saying the words nearly made her choke.</p>
<p class="western">Jyles' face changed again before his left hand pulled the longsword from its scabbard. “In the name of Lord Arwood Frey, you are hereby under arrest.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya sighed.</p>
<p class="western">And then her legs were moving as fast as they could carry her toward the line of trees on the other side of the field. She heard Jyles' horse whine before the ten horsemen began to give chase. Her hands were flat &amp; her arms were pumping; the bag strapped to her torso jumped up and down against her back. It was short before Ser Brendon came alongside Arya. She glipsed him leaning to grab her out of the corner of her eye. To escape capture, her direction changed to her direct right then to her diagonal right soon after. The trees were getting closer and closer along with her pursuers.</p>
<p class="western">More hoof beats were added to the cacophony, farther off and in the direction of where the road reentred the trees. Steel was stripped and Ser Brendon's company veered away from their chase. Arya continued to bolt toward the trees and stopped herself once she reached them. Hiding behind a tree, she listened to the sound of steel clashing and horses dying. Corpses fell &amp; mounts retreated. Looking back into the field revealed Ser Brendon's men on the run, a portion of her rescuers pursuing them while the remaining portion came in her direction. She placed herself behind the tree and forced her breathing to slow. The horses came to a stop and steel was sheathed before the voice came.</p>
<p class="western">“Step out here girl,” said Beric Donardian. “We are the Brotherhood without Banners. You are safe now.” <em>The Brotherhood! </em>Reluctantly, she inched out from behind the tree. Doing so revealed the three horseman who'd decided to see to her instead of the fleeing horsemen. On either side of the Lightning Lord was Thoros of Myr and Sandor Clegane. All three of their expressions turned to varying levels of shock. “Arya Stark!”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes,” Arya confirmed. “How have you three fared without me?” She kept a hint of sarcasm in her tone.</p>
<p class="western">“You left me for dead,” Sandor stated bluntly. “I'd have half a mind to run my blade through you here &amp; now for that.”</p>
<p class="western">“But you won't,” Arya told him.</p>
<p class="western">“No, I won't. Why did you leave me? I thought I was on that list of yours.”</p>
<p class="western">“You came off my list when you kept me safe.”</p>
<p class="western">“You've caused quite the fuss,” the Red Preist put in. “We've been breaking apart companies like that all day and last night because of what you did.”</p>
<p class="western">“Where have you been?” Clegane asked but sounding more like he was demanding.</p>
<p class="western">“Braavos.”</p>
<p class="western">“And where are you headed?” Donardian questioned.</p>
<p class="western">“King's Landing. I've got a list to finish.”</p>
<p class="western">“For fuck sake, you're not still crossing names off that fucking thing.”</p>
<p class="western">“I've got three names left and all of them are in King's Landing.”</p>
<p class="western">“We can give you a horse and you should strip a cloak off one of those bodies,” Beric told her. “We're heading North.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why?”</p>
<p class="western">“Your bastard brother's been delared King in the North. Seeing as the reason we first came to the Riverland's was Lord Eddard, we've decided to honour him by fighting for his son. Talk is he was raised from the dead by the Lady Melisandre. You're welcome to come with us.”</p>
<p class="western">“Aren't you going to steal and ransom me like you planned to last time?”</p>
<p class="western">“That was before you did our job for us,” Thoros said. “Why not come with us? I'm sure your brother will be happy to see you.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It was a tempting offer. Heading north would mean seeing her family again. Jon would take care of her and she be able to live in Winterfell again. But her list </span>
  <em>needed</em>
  <span> to be finished. With great reluctance, Arya replied: “I can't. I need to see my list cleared before heading home. I'm here in the South now and not likely to come back once I return home.”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“Very well,” Dondarion accepted. “We can escort you down to Lord Harroway's Town and from there you can head south on your own.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you.”</p>
<p class="western">The Bortherhood caught one of the horses that belonged to Ser Brendon's company and got Arya atop it. She'd pulled a thick black cloak and fur-lined gloves off one of the company in the time the horse was caught. The party regrouped and made south along the road that Arya had been following. Lord Harroway's Town was their destination.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Jaime I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>News reaches King's Landing</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Jaime</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">On the first day the white raven came, as the city was covered in a thick sheet of snow. On the second day, most of the snow melted away into slush, becoming a nusance to the people going about their lives; including those in the Red Keep. The third day saw the second white blanket laid upon the captial. The slush from the day before froze into ice and became a hazard: Jaime ordered the groundkeepers to go out with hammers to smash any ice as well as sweeping the snow off the footpaths. The fourth day saw the snow continue. The piles got higher. The groundkeepers swept the paths in the morning, at noon and in the evening. The floor in the Godswood became mud. The next three days saw continuous snow and the same routine for the groundkeepers. It was on the seventh day that the red comet returned to the sky; visable through the few gaps in the clouds.</p>
<p class="western">As he stared upon it from his solar balcony in the middle morning, the cold air turning his cheeks pink where his beard was shaved, Jaime could not help but be filled by a strong forboding. He thought it might be a sign of the seasons changing. The last time it had appeared was when Robb Stark had him locked in a makeshift cage at the beginning of autumn. It seemed almost uncanny that it should appear as another Stark commited to treason. Last he knew, Sansa Stark had fled Winterfell and was marshalling an army to take it from Ramsay Bolton.</p>
<p class="western">Maybe it was his promise to Catelyn Stark to return her daughters, maybe it was the few stories that had dirfted southward about the things the Bastard of Bolton did to people, but Jaime could not shake the glimmer of solace that came from knowning Sansa Stark had found the last living member of her family and was safe with him. Seven knew she needed it after all Joffrey had put the poor girl through. Cersei wasn't happy it in the slightest.</p>
<p class="western">Since he'd returned from the Riverlands, Jaime had found Cersei to be growing more &amp; more insufferable because of the reprecussions of her destroying the Great Sept of Baelor. Everyday a mob of peasants had been at the gates of the Red Keep. Lannister soldiers and city watchmen had to spend their guard duty pushing them back. He felt sorry for them: they shouldn't be having to deal with the results of Cersei's actions. Jaime shouldn't have to either.</p>
<p class="western">When he'd been told that Tommen had thrown himself from a window after watching the wildfire consumed the Great Sept, Jaime had to force his anger toward Cersei away. Looking upon her only reminded him that all of his children were now dead. The only thing keeping him from taking every one of his men back home to Casterly Rock was knowing Cersei would only cause more trouble were he not here to keep her in check.</p>
<p class="western">A knock on the door took Jaime off his train of thought. He called for whoever it was to enter and it turned out to be a steward, bringing the Queen's summons to him. A vital update on the situation in the North had arrived. Jaime dismissed the steward and left his room to stroll through the corridors of the Red Keep. He wore a red wool tunic decorated with lions cut from cloth-of-gold, Widow's Wail strapped around his waist and his golden hand moving in rhythm with his arm. Coming to the door of Cersei's solar, his golden hand placed two knocks on the wood.</p>
<p class="western">“Come in,” she responded. Jaime pushed the door open with his left hand and found his sister staring at a raven scroll. She wore a dress of fine wool dyed crimson, slashed with black silk and trimmed with myrish lace. White light bled in through the window panes, the bottoms of which were covered in snow on the outside. He descended the stairs that led down from the door and came to stop in front of her desk.</p>
<p class="western">“So what has happened in the North?” Jaime asked. Cersei's eyes were the only part of her body to move, flicking up from the raven scroll to pierce directly into Jaime's being. They were filled with a burning anger that Jaime knew would have only come with particularly bad news.</p>
<p class="western">“That vile bitch Sansa Stark has taken Winterfell from the Boltons,” Cersei told him with vemon in her tone, “and her bastard brother has been named King in the North. She is a princess. Littlefinger has declared himself &amp; the Vale for House Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“And this troubles you because you're now Queen of only six kingdoms,” Jaime replied. “Well, let's be frank, only two, really. Dorne &amp; most of the Reach is in open rebellion, the North &amp; the Vale are in bed with each other and the Stormlands' alligence is tenuous at best considering the castellan of Storm's End has yet to swear fealty since Stannis was defeated by the Boltons six months ago. All we've got left is the Riverlands &amp; the Westerlands.”</p>
<p class="western">She threw the scroll on the table and gripped her wine glass before walking to one of the two windows behind her. “By naming Ned Stark's bastard as King, the North is in open rebellion. But waging war on the North would cost too much time &amp; money that we need to spend focusing on surviving this winter. Dorne &amp; the Reach are the nearest threat. I need a way of ending one of these rebellions and quickly. What do you think are the chances I can pocket this bastard the North has named King as an ally by legitimising him? He may have called himself Stark, but it is a hollow gesture considering he legitmised himself.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'd tell you you're wasting your breath.”</p>
<p class="western">“It will still be worth the try. I'll have Qyburn send a raven. ”</p>
<p class="western">“Send it if it makes you feel better but there's no chance that a son of Ned Stark will submit to you or any other lord south of The Neck now that he's retaken Winterfell in his family's name, bastard or no. You should leave him be. Let him run the North during Winter. Wait until Spring comes then send an army North. If we're lucky, they'll be weak or, better yet, dead already.”</p>
<p class="western">“That's if the Dragon Queen in the East dosen't destroy us first.”</p>
<p class="western">“What?”</p>
<p class="western">“Qyburn's spies have told him the Targaryen girl has left Mereen with the help of Theon &amp; Yara Greyjoy. No doubt she'll want to take the Iron Throne. Ollena Tyrell has taken ten thousand men to Dorne, leaving most of the smaller houses loyal to her in the Reach with their men. Highgarden stands vulnerable with only a token garrison left to defend the castle while their Lady is away.” She turned but round to Jaime, a smirk upon her lips. “If the castle is taken in the name of House Lannister and the Iron Throne, then the lords of the reach may swear fealty to the throne once they see their leige lord's home captured. We also have debts to pay to the Iron Bank and a winter to survive. We can strip Highgarden of every ounce of gold &amp; grain in its stores and bring it here to the capital so we can pay the Iron Bank while also feeding our festering wound of a population.”</p>
<p class="western">“And I expect that you want me to be the person taking Highgarden.”</p>
<p class="western">“I do.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'll gather up the men I took to the Riverlands and move out in a weeks time.” <em>The less time I spend with you the better, but that leaves you to scheme on your own without me watching.</em></p>
<p class="western">“Good.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime left her solar and made for a small meeting chamber. He summoned his captains and commanders to inform them of the planned movement in a week's time. They told him how long the men needed to rest since returning from the Riverlands and how much food they'd need to gather. They told him it would be unwise given winter was upon them and Jaime told them it would be worth the rewards Highgarden would give. They agreed with the point and told him they'd see their men begin prepartions.</p>
<p class="western">The meeting ended soon before noon. Jaime found Bronn and the pair of them ventured to one of the kitchens for some beef &amp; onion stew. It went down like a treat, finished by soaking a piece of brown bread with the remaining broth. Afterwards the pair passed by an execution performed by Ser Ilyn on the way down to the spot where they would spar. The man being beheaded had jammed a knife into the eye of a gold cloak manning the main gates of the Red Keep. The pair sparred for an hour. While Jaime had accepted he'd never be as skilled wielding a sword in his left hand as he had been with his right, he skill wanted to be at his best.</p>
<p class="western">After sparring, Jaime decided to take a tour of the walls surrounding King's Landing; keeping warm by wrapping himself in a thick cloak of red dyed wool, lined on the inside with cloth-of-gold, which bore his family sigil on the back. If Daenerys Targeryen was going to attack then the walls needed to be manned properly. Each stretch of the battlements in-between towers had a different captain and each one of them Jaime had a decently lengthed conversation with. They told him their problems and he had Bronn note them down so that the resources required for the solutions could be given to the captains. Jaime wasn't going to let King's Landing fall while he was in charge of its defense. Bronn was a help as well; his sharp tounge got any idle guardsmen to their posts and made sure they stayed there. It seemed he had taken a liking to the position of an officer since the siege of Riverrun.</p>
<p class="western">Evening turned into night and the sun had long disappeared when he finally returned to the Red Keep. Almost every window was alive with the light of torches &amp; braziers; helping the colour of red stand out against the black of night and through the white of the snow. He ate a solitary supper in his solar; fish, potatoes and broccoli with a cup of sour wine over the most recent report from the Lord Commander of the City Watch detailing the damages the recent riots had caused. Reading through it only fed the fire of his growing hate for Cersei. Many a window had been smashed, many a guardsman injured and many a possession stolen. He was half convinced the repairs the city needed would reach a cost more expensive than the value of whatever gold they would bring back from Highgarden before he even left the city to collect it.</p>
<p class="western">That he dreamt a strange dream. He was a lion prowling for prey in the heart of a land populated by rivers, only he was distracted by <em>quorking</em><span> of a raven. “Head north,” it told him. “Your true enemy lies north.” So he went north, as the the raven bid him, but he did not remember anymore of the dream after being</span> woken the next morning by a soft knock on his chamber door. After pushing away the thick duvet he'd asked for once the snow began to fall, Jaime answered the door in his dark red night shirt rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It was a page telling him that the Queen requested his presense. He thanked the page, then apologised for anwsering in his night clothes. The page bowed before leaving.</p>
<p class="western">Jaime arrived at Cersei's apartments to find her in rage. It was not the quiet, subdued one she had when the news of the Stark reclaiming Wintefell had reached her. Instead, she paced furiously across the courtyard that had been covered in a fresh layer of snow in the night that had yet to be cleared away.</p>
<p class="western">“What is it this time?” Jaime asked, not bothering to hide his frustration. “Has Sansa Stark whelped a litter of wolves put in her belly by the Bastard of Bolton?”</p>
<p class="western">“It is the other she-wolf this news is about,” Cersei said, her rage subtle in her tone. The reply took him off guard.</p>
<p class="western">“Arya Stark's alive?” Jaime uttered, puzzled. Cersei came to a stop and stared him down.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. Do you expect that Catelyn Stark rose from her watery grave?” She returned to passing, swift footsteps muffled by thick snow. “Arya Stark went missing after her father was arrested and has now reemerged at the Twins. She poisioned the stew that was being eaten by a gathering of Freys. As it would turn out, she was also the person responsible for Walder Frey's death. The new Lord of the Crossing has demanded that I send an army north to help tear the Riverlands apart looking for her.”</p>
<p class="western">“And who is this new Lord of the Crossing?” Jaime asked.</p>
<p class="western">“A young man named Ser Arwood.” Cersei chuckled. “He's got courage, at the very least, to demand anything from his Queen. Perhaps I should humour him to keep him happy, the last thing I need is another lord breaking faith.”</p>
<p class="western">“How will you send an army to the Riverlands when I'm taking all our forces to take Highgarden?” Jaime asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Split the army in two and send one portion to Highgarden while the other goes to the Riverlands.”</p>
<p class="western">“What about me? Surely you'd want me to lead both these efforts.”</p>
<p class="western">“I leave that decsion up to you. Choose which ever effort you find most important and get a man you trust to lead the other? You are dismissed.”</p>
<p class="western">He returned to his solar, almost seething. Once there, Jaime moved over to his desk to find a spare piece of parchment, a bottle of maester's black and a sharp quill. He drafted a letter to Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill; amoung the Tyrell bannermen who'd remained loyal to Cersei, he was the most accomplished military commander. Tarly was closer to Highgarden than he was and likely knew the castle better than Jaime ever could. <em>With the four thousand Lannister men that I'm sending to help him, Lord Randyll should have no problem taking the castle.</em></p>
<p class="western">Once written, Jaime's letter informed Lord Randyll of the planned taking of Highgarden and commanded him to move east to meet the Lannister forces while they travel to the castle. After the castle was taken, he should personally see the salvaged gold &amp; grain to King's Landing. The writing was shoddy and near unintelligable but one of the stewards in charge of the rookery could make out Jaime's poor writting well enough to copy the message in a neater hand. Taking his letter to the rookery was the last thing he did before seeing to his daily duties.</p>
<p class="western">Come afternoon, Jaime Lannister was informing his captains &amp; commanders of the new plan to have half the forces go to Highgarden while the other half went to the Riverlands. Jaime would lead the men going to the Riverlands, wanting to personally oversee the capture of Arya Stark... and aso because he rememebred what the raven had said to him in his dream. <em>Your true enemy lies north. </em>With the younger Stark daughter in the possession, they could use her as a hostage against the rebelious Sansa &amp; Jon Stark. At least that is what he told his men and then Cersei.</p>
<p class="western">If they did indeed capture Arya Stark, he would see to it that she somehow escaped her chains while a company of loyal men went out to look for her as soon they knew. The company of men would travel north up the Kingsroad until Moat Cailin where they would 'find' the girl under the protection of the northmen garrisoned their. Unable to retrieve her without certain death to all the men in the company, they would return to the Twins, give the bad news and the Lanister forces would return home to King's Landing, their mission failed. <em>And my oath to Catelyn Stark fulfiled.</em></p>
<p class="western">Following the meeting, Jaime received a summons to the throne room. He made his way there, wondering as to what he would find once he did. Cersei was sitting on the monsterous chair with the Mountain at her right and the six other Queensguard standing at the bottom of the dais. Jaime joined her on the left of the throne.</p>
<p class="western">“What have you dragged me down here for?” Jaime asked in a hushed tone.</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy has arrived to swear fealty,” Cersei anwsered.</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy? I thought he was banished for his pursuit of dark magic.”</p>
<p class="western">“He was. Now he's returned.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why would he bother to declare for you? The Ironborn have been the most rebellious people in the realm over the last twenty years.”</p>
<p class="western">“Perhaps he sees the benefits of working with the rightful leader of the realm as well as someone who is enemies with the people who stole a good portion of his fleet.”</p>
<p class="western">It was then that the main doors were opened. Greyjoy strolled through the room toward the dais. Following him was three of his crew members carrying a horn that looked to be two meters long: black ivory banded with gold and valyrian steel rings, runes carved into the metal work. Euron himself was wearing a complete suit of valyrian steel armour, the helmet held under his arm. Jaime had to devote a great deal of effort to hide his amazment. Greyjoy came to a stop and bowed.</p>
<p class="western">“Your Grace,” he greeted. Jaime guessed Greyjoy's tougne was threatening to cut through his cheek. “I come before you today to offer an alliance between the Ironborn and the Iron Throne.”</p>
<p class="western">“I was expecting a pledge of fealty.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm afraid you expected incorrectly. If I pledged fealty to a woman, my men would geld me.”</p>
<p class="western">“Give me one reason why I shouldn't have you gelded myself.”</p>
<p class="western">“My Ironborn are in the process of building a thousand ships. If you agree to my terms, they will be yours to use freely.”</p>
<p class="western">“What terms?”</p>
<p class="western">Euron turned to his men and gave short nod. One of them placed his lips on the mouthpiece while the other two held it from either side. The horn began to sound, filling the throne room. Jaime covered his ears fearing that they would burst. The runes in the metal work began to glow red then white while the hornblower's face went red, then purple: the colour Joffrey's had when he'd been poisoned. Blood welled in his eyes, leaked from his nostrils and squirted from his ears. Steam &amp; smoke rose from the man's skin. The note was cut short when the hornblower went limp and fell backwards onto the floor – dead and smoldering – blood leaking out to form a puddle around the body. Through the painful musical display, Euron Greyjoy remained unphased.</p>
<p class="western">“This horn I found while searching the ruins of Valyria,” Euron claimed confidently. “The same place I found this armour. The horn is called Dragonbinder. When it sounds, any dragons close enough to hear it will be bound to the will of the horn's master. Me.” He took two steps closer to the dais, promting the Queensgaurd to pull their swords half from their scabbards. “These are my terms: you can have my ships, you can have my counsel. Treat me as an equal and let me call myself King of the Iron Islands. Our alligance will be mutally benefically. With this horn, I will bind the Dragon Queen's children to me and use them to burn everything north of the Neck to a cinder.” Jaime, having recovered from the deafening sound of the horn, noticed Cersei's smile grow.</p>
<p class="western">“Very well,” Cersei agreed. “I will treat you as an equal. You can name yourself King of the Iron Islands. Burn the North for me and an alliance between House Lannister &amp; House Greyjoy will last until the Gods decide to destroy this world we live in. I will have the woods outside King's Landing cut down and made into timber to help you build your ships. However, the problem with your offer comes when you realise that you have nothing to give me until the Dragon Queen arrives in Westeros. And now you have shown this Dragonbinder, I don't want it to leave the capital so I can ensure that you don't obtain control of the dragons to then betray me. With these circumstances being in place, you cannot fulfill your end of this bargin until our enemy is on our doorstep.”</p>
<p class="western">A wicked smile was revealed by the parting of Euron's lips. “Your Grace, all good things come to those who wait.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Jon I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon prepares his kingdom for war.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Jon</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Jon walked the halls of Winterfell – alone. No stewards saw to jobs, no soldiers stood guard. The great hall had been empty bar the high table. He felt like he didn't belong, despite the crown of Iron &amp; Bronze perched on his head that told others he was a King of Winter. But the Kings before him had all been Starks: he was a Snow who had stolen their name. <em>I always wanted to be Lord of Winterfell. I refused when Stannis offered the position to me and I should have refused to be made King. </em>But it was the choice of the lords &amp; ladies that he should lead them. Like Mance had been chosen by the free folk. Like the Watch had chosen him to be Lord Comamander. It was his duty to lead them and Jon was not one to balk at his duty.</p><p class="western">He walked outside the main keep. Night had fallen and a strong wind blew. One foot was placed in front of the other, crunching snow as they went; aimlessly wondering that took him to the northern gate. The two great wooden doors were wide open, unmanned. Outside he could see bonfires burning in the hill covered fields. They helped to light up the immense army standing just beyond the gate. Jon walked underneath the stone arch and saw them; the blue eyes that stared back. The wights held no weapons. Getting closer, he saw that the front line was made of fresh corpses. Corpses he knew.</p><p class="western">Robb, Rickon, Arya, Bran &amp; Sansa.</p><p class="western">Lady Catelyn.</p><p class="western">Sam, Edd, Pyp &amp; Grenn.</p><p class="western">Lord Commander Mormont. Maester Aemon.</p><p class="western">Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh &amp; Othell Yarwyck.</p><p class="western">Olly.</p><p class="western">Tyrion.</p><p class="western">Stannis.</p><p class="western">Tormond &amp; Mance Rayder. Orell &amp; the Lord of Bones.</p><p class="western">There was a giant: Wun Wun.</p><p class="western">Uncle Benjen.</p><p class="western">Ygritte.</p><p class="western">Jon looked upon them in horror. Once he reached the front line, they stepped asie to reveal a horse walking toward him. Jon knew who was riding the horse, but this was not the Night King he remembered from Hardhome, not at all. Jon gaped at the different appearance: Ned Stark sat a dead horse, skin covered in frost, hair whilted white and eyes a piercing blue. Ice rested upon his back: the sword was made of its namesake rather than valyrian steel. Jon fell to his knees, weeping.</p><p class="western">Lord Eddard dismounted his horse and walked to stand by Jon's left. From the crowd to Jon's left walked Theon Greyjoy. The Ironborn took the scabbrd off Ice and the Lord of Winterfell said, “You are a deserter from the Night's Watch and must be punished. Have you any last words?”</p><p class="western">“I've betrayed you father. I'm sorry. I wear the crown meant for Robb, Bran or Rickon. Sansa or Arya. It was never meant for me.”</p><p class="western">Lord Eddard breathed in. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals &amp; the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms &amp; Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard, the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell &amp; Warden in the North, sentence you to die.”</p><p class="western">Ice came down on his neck.</p><p class="western">Three cracks of thunder followed.</p><p class="western">The King in the North lied in bed, his breath laboured &amp; uneasy, dressed in a black nightshirt and wrapped in a wolf fur duvet. The fire was long dead and the room was dark; dawn was far from peaking over the eastern horizon. His white direwolf lied at the foot of the bed and slept soundly. Longclaw was in its scabbard, gripped tightly by Jon in case he needed to use it upon being rudely awoken.</p><p class="western">A sharp knock hit his chamber door three times. Jon was brought out of his slumber and an inch of steel was bared as he &amp; Ghost sat up. hiss breathing slowed and sight narrowed upon the door. The three sharp knocks came again. Confident it was not a threat upon his life, Jon covered the inch of steel that lied naked in his lap.</p><p class="western">“Who is it?” Jon asked, his voice tired.</p><p class="western">“Me,” his sister replied; sounding on the brink of tears.</p><p class="western">Jon pushed himself out of bed and walked toward the door. Longclaw found a place leaning against the wall next to old oak held together by aged iron. He gripped the handle, lifted the latch, pulled open the door with the sound of grinding metal. The door was wide open for barely a second before Sansa had wrapped her arms around Jon's neck: a crimson nightshift the only thing covering her. Her breathing was ragged; coupled with pained whimpers. His arms were around her waist as his leg kicked the door shut with a clatter of the latch combined with the <em>thump</em> of wood on stone.</p><p class="western">“What's wrong?” Jon questioned, concerned.</p><p class="western">“A nightmare. About him,” Sansa answered quietly. Her grip somehow tightened. “Please, let me stay with you until morning. I don't think I can sleep anymore tonight.”</p><p class="western">“Of course.”</p><p class="western">He led her to the hearth sitting to the left of the door connecting his bedchamber and his solar. Ghost made his way to lie by Sansa's left side and Jon placed the fur duvet from his bed around her shoulders before kneeling on her right. Wood and fresh tinder found its way into the hearth. The fire was soon alive. Jon knelt with a comforting arm around Sansa's shoulder, wrapping himself in the duvet. Her breathing slowed, fingers running through Ghost's fur. The pair sat with nothing but the crackle of the fire for some time before Jon thought to ask, “What did he do to you in the dream?”</p><p class="western">She didn't reply; only pulled the furs higher over her shoulder &amp; Jon's arm. He noticed her hand lingering on her left breast before returning it to Ghost's fur but thought nothing of it. Silence remained between the two of them once again. Jon had to move off his knees to sit crosslegged after a time because his bones were starting to ache with his weight pushing them against the hard wood floor. He would place a new log on the fire when the flames got too small.</p><p class="western">“Littlefinger thinks I should be Queen in the North,” Sansa told him suddenly, breaking the long silence. She pushed herself further into her brother's embrace.</p><p class="western">“I doubt the northern lords will care what he thinks considering that Ser Kyle made his selling you to the Boltons public knowledge,” Jon said matter of factly.</p><p class="western">“If you die, the crown passes to me,” Sansa said gingerly.</p><p class="western">“So you're saying he'll have me killed?”</p><p class="western">“Yes.” She added, “He also wants to sit the Iron Throne with me as his wife.” Jon's grip on her shoulder tightened instinctively out of anger: if he was hurting her, she wasn't letting it show.</p><p class="western">“You can refuse him Sansa. You don't have let yourself get forced into a marriage for a third time.”</p><p class="western">“This is Littlefinger we're talking about, Jon. His plan will be simple: make me Queen in the North, refuse me the resources of the Vale unless I agree to marry him then use his power as King in the North to march south with the armies of the North and the Vale. The first step in his plan will be to remove you. I can't let that happen.”</p><p class="western">“You don't have you worry about me, Sansa.”</p><p class="western">“I do have to worry.” She removed her hands from Ghost's fur to wrap her arms tightly around Jon. “We're all that's left of House Stark. We have to protect each other. With your permission, I'd like to ask the castle staff to report to me anything Littlefinger says that could hint at plans to remove you.”</p><p class="western">Jon gave her a grave look. “Sansa, I doubt the staff would before comfortable with such a thing.”</p><p class="western">“I would still like to propose it to them. If we're going to beat Littlefinger then we need to play him at his own game. He's already made the fatal flaw of telling me his end goal. Once he said to me that a man with no motive is a man no one suspects, but now I know his motive, so I can use it against him. Please Jon. You protect me with Longclaw, let me protect you with spies &amp; whispers.”</p><p class="western">He frowned, then replied: “Very well. Inquire with the heads of the castle staff to see whether or not they'd be comfortable fulfilling such a task, but you will not pursue it further if they aren't.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you.” She tightened her embrace. “I'll teach you everything Littlefinger taught me. We need to work as a team if we're to win. Together I think we can see the North through its most proserous years.”</p><p class="western">“Well that's quite the ambition,” Jon chuckled softly.</p><p class="western">Sansa smiled gently and rested her head on Jon's shoulder. Her left hand returned to combing Ghost's fur as the pair of them sat in front of the blazing fire. He thought of little more than the fire in front of him, the fur wrapped around him, the white direwolf lying near him and the sister holding onto him. Jon could not recall a time where he felt more at peace, more pleased with his situation. In that small hour of the morning, he did not have to worry about ruling a kingdom or fighting dead men. All Jon needed to worry about was the fact he was happy, sitting there, with the only family he had left in the world: the wolf he'd saved from straving in the cold and the sister who came to him when she was at her lowest.</p><p class="western">The morning's first light began to creep in-between the planks of the wooden shutters. Noticing, Jon suggested Sansa go to her chamber to get dressed for the day. He walked her to the door of her solar, a walk which began with a left turn out of his chamber door. The end of the corridor allowed one to descend a set of stairs if you continued forward, enter Jon's solar if they took the door on their left and walk the corridor where the Lord's solar was accessed if they turned right. They turned right and Sansa disappeared into the single door on the left wall of that corridor.</p><p class="western">Once returned to his chamber, Jon's nightshirt was replaced with a pair of brown breeches and a clean, white undershirt covered with a woolen grey tunic that bore direwolves snarling at each other from either side of the chest. Sansa had made it for him once he'd been crowned King. The embroidery would go unappreciated – unfortunately – because Jon donned a leather jerkin, lined with wolf fur, over the tunic. His feet slipped into leather boots that went half way up his calves.</p><p class="western">Dressed, Jon opened the three sets of wooden shutters covering his chamber's windows to let in the early morning light. A light snow fell upon Winterfell from a grey sky. He moved into his solar through the door to the right of the fireplace. He needn't have lit a new fire because the solar and bedchamber shared a hearth. Jon had silently congradulated whoever designed this set of rooms for that particularly smart choice when he decided to take it for his own chamber: the only deciding factor in the choice being that it was the closest chamber to Sansa's. Ghost followed Jon in. The King in the North sat at his desk after opening the two sets of wooden shutters covering the room's two windows.</p><p class="western">The desk was covered with papers and spare bottles of ink. The two draws that sat either side of the desk were filled with spare quills, parchment, account books and so on. One thing he despised about being King was the paper work. Being Lord Commander the Night's Watch had been difficult but it paled in comparison to the beast of a task that was running a kingdom. He gathered some recently used papers and wrapped them in a piece of twine. They were to be given to the castle steward later today.</p><p class="western">Sansa soon entered after knocking first, joined by a steward who asked them what they would be having to break their fasts. Jon asked for a simple bowl of porridge for himself &amp; a goat's leg for Ghost while Sansa ask for boiled eggs. They ate together, not speaking; washing their food down with plain, cold water. Jon observed Sansa was wearing a light grey, woolen dress. The skirts were embroidered with darker grey direwolves and her hair was done in the typical style northern highborn women tended to wear. No doubt she'd don the tiara he had made for her when she began her tasks for the day.</p><p class="western">After their fast was broken, Jon left his solar with his crown on his head, Longclaw buckled around his waist and the cloak Sansa had made for him over his shoulders. The crown was a bronze circlet engraved with runes of the first men, nine iron spikes protruding from the top. Jon had felt more weight fall upon his shoulders since being named King and the crown added a physical presence to that weight. While the crown had been fit to sit still, it was still a task to get used to metal sitting on your head every time that you were seeing to offical business. While he'd not wanted to wear a crown, the master blacksmith &amp; armourer had it made for him anyway (“A king needs a crown,” the blacksmith had said). The craftsmanship was excellent so Jon didn't want to refuse such a fine piece of metal work. Jon then had Sansa's tiara made as she was now a Princess: it was a bronze half-circlet with an iron direwolf running upon it's top.</p><p class="western">Jon went to the Godswood every morning after breaking his fast. He emerged from the main keep – Ghost at his side – and walked under the arch connecting the main courtyard and the northern courtyard. Castle staff were wide awake and already working. Winterfell was a hive of activity being coated with fresh snow each day. Workmen would spend their days shovling it against the walls and into barrels. The snow filling the barrells would be melted then cleaned to be used as drinking &amp; cleaning water.</p><p class="western">As he passed under the arch leading to the Godswood, he gave the two guards on duty a nod and received one in return coupled with the two of them saying, “Your Grace.” Every morning it was the same guards: one of them named Gerald – who had a thick, black beard that covered his jaw, upper lips &amp; cheeks – and the other named Rickard – cleaned shaven with straw brown hair and named for Jon's grandfather. Because of his visits to the Godswood, Jon had made good acquaintance with the two men and Ghost received plenty of pets from them.</p><p class="western">The King in the North strolled through his Godswood with his wolf at his side, until he came to the clearing where the Weirwood sat; it's red leaves a sharp contrast to the white snow covering the rest of the trees, the lake at it's foot frozen over from the cold. Jon reached the heart tree and knelt before it. His hands in his lap, his head bowed and his eyes shut, silently he prayed:</p><p class="western">
  <em>Old Gods of the North, I ask once again for the wisdom any good king should have. See me through this winter to spring with your guiding hand. Give me the strength and courage to protect my people from the threat that travels south. I also ask for some news of my missing siblings: Arya &amp; Bran. I know Bran is somewhere north of the wall but Arya has been missing since father's arrest, Sansa tells me. Even just a rumour would settle my worries. I pray nothing bad has happened to them, if it has all I have left is Sansa.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Sansa. I pray her nightmares leave her. Let her leave Ramsay in the past where he can't do her harm. Last of all, I ask that my father watches over me. I was never meant to rule as lord because of my being a bastard. I hope he is not angry that I've taken his name simply because I've been named King. I hope he is proud of me for looking after his home and Sansa now that I am the last of his sons still in Winterfell.</em>
</p><p class="western">Jon waited a bit after his prayer before rising from the ground to sigh. While his prayers were genuine, there was a sense of duty that pushed him into performing them. By praying so often, he knew he would set an example for his people to follow. Regardless of whether or not the Old Gods listened or paid prayers any mind, if more people found hope in prayer then maybe morale would remain high when the White Walkers finally came. After rubbing the top of Ghost's head firmly, Jon left the Godswood to see to his duties as King.</p><p class="western">His morning was spent walking the castle: asking people how they were, what jobs they were doing, whether there was anything he could do to help them even if it was in some small way. He made a full circuit of the castle ramparts; speaking with guards, captains and men-at-arms posted on the walls. Always Jon's voice was polite and he chuckled along when japes were thrown in with the more serious talk of castle defense and feeding the men. The circuit also allowed for him to get a firm grip of the castle defenses and he decided on some extra procautions to take in preparation for the looming threat; the captains he spoke to were in complete agreement of said precautions. Jon assured them the order would be given during the meeting after lunch.</p><p class="western">Noon came quickly. Jon made his way to the great hall of Winterfell and emerged in through the main door. The lords &amp; ladies of the North spoke and muttered, slurping broth, chewing meat and breaking bread. Amoung the crowd Jon noted Tormund with his fellow Free Folk leaders Dim Dalba &amp; Sigorn who was Magnar of Thenn, Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne, Lord Manderly, Lord Royce, Lord Glover, the heirs of the Umber &amp; Karstark, Lyanna Mormont, Lord Cerwyn, Hornwoods, Dustins, Tallharts and many another Northern houses – big or small. Howland Reed of Greywater Watch was absent and had been at all meetings held before, but Jon understood the absence given that Greywater Watch was so far south. Jon noticed the only lord not eating was Lord Baelish; standing in the corner watching the crowd. He had to stop a sneer forming, lest Baelish become aware for Jon's dislike of him before the time was ripe.</p><p class="western">Jon sat at the high table, in-between Sansa and Davos. Sansa sat at his left, the tiara on her head and a thick cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Ser Davos sat at his right, who Jon had named his hand; the smiths made a pin for the role. Ghost found a place lying down in front of the high table. Jon called over a serving girl named Dalla, asked for a bowl of stew and some mutton for Ghost. His Hand and the Princess had already been eating. Once Dalla returned, the three of them spoke &amp; ate &amp; japed, chuckling at recollections of minor squabbles that had arisen during the last few weeks. When the eating ended and the servants cleared the tables, the King in the North stood to begin the meeting:</p><p class="western">“Good afternoon, my lord &amp; ladies,” Jon began curtly, drawing all attention in the room to him. “Today is the day I tell you to reutrn to your homes. You've all been terrific guests here in Winterfell but the time has come that you begin preparing your people for the war to come. As such, I have tasks for you all, but before getting into that, I've drafted a new law I believe is necessary.” He was hand a piece of parchment from Davos. Jon cleared his throat:</p><p class="western">“'In the event that the last person in possession of a family name is a woman, the children she bears will be given her name instead of the father's. This will be done to prevent the names of houses, great &amp; small, being lost because no male heirs remain to pass it on. In the event that a marriage occurs between two people who are both the last people to hold their family name, it will be up to them to discuss which of their children will recieve which name.'” Jon placed the parchment on the table.</p><p class="western">“Can I ask why you feel this is necessary, Your Grace?” asked Lord Cerwyn.</p><p class="western">“I point to Lady Mormont and Alys Karstark, Lord Cerwyn. Both are the last living members of their houses and women. It is them I had in mind when coming up with this law.” Of course, he'd run the idea by Sansa &amp; Davos as well, both agreed it would be a good idea to implement the law. The answer seemed to be accepted, so Jon moved on. “Lord Manderly. How many ships are there in White Harbour's ports?”</p><p class="western">The Lord of White Harbour stood tall, his great, white beard hiding his four chins, with his gut pushing a mud stained gambeson as far out as the material could strectch. In his thick, bellowing voice he answsered Jon's question: “Near a hundred, Your Grace.”</p><p class="western">“When you return home you will load each of them with as much mining equipment as possible and make for Dragonstone. Take the island if it needs taking. Stannis Baratheon told me there is dragonglass in the caves of that island. I want every last inch of it stripped from those caverns and brought here to be made into weapons.”</p><p class="western">“Certainly, Your Grace. It's been a long time since I've been on a good voyage. This will be just what I need.”</p><p class="western">“You will be accompanied by my Hand, Lord Davos, who will respresent the crown on the voyage. He knows Dragonstone better than anyone in this room.”</p><p class="western">“I'll gladly go Your Grace,” Davos said, Jon looking round as he spoke. “I know the smallfolk on the island well and they will likely welcome the fleet if I am there to introduce it.”</p><p class="western">“Once the meeting ends, gather your things to make for White Harbour this afternoon. Once the fortress is taken, you will be Lord of Dragonstone.” Davos nodded his acknowledgment of the order and Jon returned his attention to the room. “Once I was named King in the North, I sent a letter to Castle Black. It should have arrived by now. In the letter I promised that men would be sent to the Wall. All of you are to empty your dungeons and send the prisoners you have to take the black. From now on, the punishment for rape, murder and theft will be the Wall. No castration. No death. No removing of fingers or hands. The Wall is our first line of defense and we need to see it properly manned. I will be escorting the prisoners in the Winterfell dungeon and Wintertown lock up to the Wall in the coming weeks. I'll also take with me fifty good soldiers to help train these recruits. While I'm gone Princess Sansa will be in charge of Winterfell and will fulfill the duties I cannot while away.”</p><p class="western">He knew Sansa was smiling at that announcement. She was the first person Jon told of the decision to escort men to the Wall himself. When she'd asked who would rule the kingdom if he &amp; Davos were away, the answer was simple. “You, Sansa,” Jon had said, prompting her to first look shocked and then smile before hugging him tightly. Sansa thanked him a great number of times for putting so much trust in her.</p><p class="western">“To help add to the number of us that can fight, everyone aged fourteen to sixty, who is able, will be trained how to wield sword, spear, pike, axe, bow and arrow,” Jon went on.</p><p class="western">“About time we taught these boys of summer how to fight,” Lord Glover japed, promtping a chuckle from the other lords.</p><p class="western">“Not just boys. We can't defend the North if only half the population is fighting.”</p><p class="western">Lord Glover stood and replied with a grave voice, “You expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter's hand?”</p><p class="western">“Aye. I do Lord Glover. It doesn't matter to the White Walkers whether we're man or woman, boy or girl. They'll kill us and turn us all the same. To prove I am unbiased in my application of this order,” he looked to his left, down toward Sansa, “I will teach Princess Sansa myself.” While she didn't say anything, Sansa's expression turned to one of shocked surprise. Jon returned his gaze to Lord Glover. “Is that good enough for you Lord Glover?”</p><p class="western">“Aye,” Glover agreed, disgruntled, before sitting.</p><p class="western">Jon found Tormund in the crowd, his red hair helping to single him out. “Tormund Giantsbane. I do not expect the Free Folk to kneel or take orders from me, so I will ask instead. Please, head to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and man the castle. Send men to the two nearest castles as well, the Torches &amp; Green Guard. The last time we saw the Walkers was at Hardhome. Eastwatch and those two other castles are the closest to it.”</p><p class="western">Tormund stood. “Aye. That's where I'll go,” he agreed. “You have the respect of the Free Folk and you were chosen by these lords &amp; ladies the same way we chose Mance. We'll do what needs to be done.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you,” Jon replied. “You'll be joined by the men I've already ordered to be sent to the Wall. Seeing as how they'll be criminals &amp; cuthroats, I'll need a man like you to beat them into shape.”</p><p class="western">“Har! You can count on it. If they get lippy we'll show them what's for.”</p><p class="western">“And once you get to Eastwatch, seal the tunnel. The Walkers' weapons can shatter steel, it means they can shatter the gates.”</p><p class="western">“Consider it already done.” He sat himself back down before Jon continued:</p><p class="western">“Lord Baelish, Lord Royce. You represent the Vale here in the North. Your knights ensured the victory against the Boltons. They are to remain in the North, ready to fight at a moment's notice. One of you must return to the Vale to see the orders I've set fulfiled. That will be you Lord Baelish.” Jon watched Baelish stay still in his corner, looking back with nothing more than a neutral expression; eyes flicking slightly. <em>To look at Sansa, no doubt.</em> “Lord Royce will remain to command the Knights of the Vale.”</p><p class="western">“Your Grace,” Lord Baelish cut in. “Surely it would be simpler to send instrustion by raven.”</p><p class="western">“As Lord Protector of the Vale, I want you there to oversee preparation yourself. You will be summoned back to Winterfell in due time and it will not be long until then I fear.” When Baelish didn't reply, Jon went on:</p><p class="western">“This morning I made the rounds on Winterfell's defences. I mean to bolster them. I'm ordering a trench to dug around Winterfell while I'm away. Ten metres wide, ten metres deep. The only way to cross the trench will be the Kingsroad, which will remain untouched. Once it's dug, we'll line the bottom with firewood for when the wights pile into it. They burn easily so we'll set the trench alight. I also want the tower rooves rebuilt at steeper angles so that the snow will run off them instead of piling up.</p><p class="western">“Now, the last order of business. The heir to Karhold &amp; Last Hearth have ridden–”</p><p class="western">“The Umbers &amp; the Karstarks betrayed the North,” Lord Royce of the Vale interrupted, standing. “Their castles should be given to families that answered the call to arms. The same for the Dreadfort.”</p><p class="western">Alys Karstark – the heir to Karhold – stood from the crowd. Slimly built and reasonably tall; hair reaching her waist and red as fire, done in the same style Sansa had put her's into this morning. “I think you mean to say Harald Karstark and Smalljon Umber betrayed the North, Lord Royce,” she spat, left hand wrapped around the hilt of her longsword. “I do not take lightly the suggestion that the castle that has been my home since I was pulled from my mother should be given to another family because my father foolishly declared for a traitor. As the heir to Karhold, I condemn my father's actions as I'm sure Ned Umber does for his own.”</p><p class="western">“Aye,” confrimed the voice of the young Lord, somewhere in the crowd.</p><p class="western">Alys looked toward the high table. “Your Grace, My Lady. Please speak sense into this fool.”</p><p class="western">“First of all, Lady Karstark, I would prefer it if you didn't call Lord Royce a fool,” Sansa began her reply, promting Jon to sit. “He &amp; his knights rode to aid in the effort of retaking Winterfell for House Stark. You will treat him with the respect he deserves. As for the suggestion to give the castles to different families, it certainly is a reasonable suggestion to make, but the last thing the North needs is two of it's most prominent Houses rid of their homes.” Sansa looked to Jon. “What would you say should be done with them, Your Grace?”</p><p class="western">“The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centries,” Jon plainly stated. “They kept faith for generation after generation. Karhold &amp; Last Hearth will be given to Alys Karstark &amp; Ned Umber as they are the rightful heirs to their family homes. As for the Dreadfort, until such a time when the White Walkers are dealt with, it will remain solely a military postion, held by the northern crown to store men and supplies.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Your Grace,” Alys replied.</p><p class="western">“By all means, Lady Karstark. You've made the journey here from Karhold to pledge your featly and I don't mean to waste your time by acting on a suggestion to strip you of it.” Jon stood. Lord Royce sat, frowning. “If you would, Lady Karstark, Lord Umber, approach.” Ned, a young boy with short, brown hair, emerged from amoung the adult lords to join Alys in her walk toward the high table down the centre isle. They stood just before it. Jon looked to Alys first. “Alys, we are kin. I ask you to make the Karstarks once again allies to the Starks in the fight against the army coming from the North to honour our shared blood.” He then looked to Ned. “Ned, together my brother and your grandfather fought against the armies of the south, I ask you to fight with me against the army coming from the north.” Shifting his gaze between the two, “Will the pair of you pledge the loyalty of your houses once again to House Stark? To serve as our bannermen and to come to our aid whenever called upon?”</p><p class="western">The pair knelt before their king. “Stand,” he told them. They did. “Yesterday's wars don't matter anymore. The North needs to band together. All the living North. Will you stand beside me, Ned &amp; Alys, now &amp; always?”</p><p class="western">“Now &amp; always,” the pair said together. Jon's mouth curled into a smile. An approving rumble came from the lords gathered. Jon finished as the newly pledged pair returned to their seats:</p><p class="western">“This meeting is adjourned. Return to your homes and see to the tasks what I have set. There's no saying when the Walkers will get here, so act as if they already were.”</p><p class="western">The lords rumbled their acknowledgements before filtering out of the great hall. Jon went round to the front of the table and knelt down in front of Ghost who'd finished the mutton. He picked up the bones and placed them on the high table before scratching Ghost behind the ear. The direwolf stood and walked round to Ser Davos.</p><p class="western">He gave short bows to Jon &amp; Sansa. “Excuse me, Your Grace, My Lady,” he said politely. “I will see to informing Woods of that monsterous trench you want dug. It will need a lot of planning and a lot of time, but it'll be worth it to have an extra defense when the Walkers make it here. If they make it here. Hopefully they won't.”</p><p class="western">“Hopefully they won't,” Jon repeated before his Hand left through the back door of the hall, petting Ghost as he went. Jon looked to Sansa, who's expression was disgruntled.</p><p class="western">“I'm not going to learn how to use a sword Jon,” Sansa stated plainly.</p><p class="western">“You will,” Jon asserted. “I told our bannermen they'd have to make their daughters and grandaughters fight. I'll look like a hypocrite if I don't make my own sister do it as well.”</p><p class="western">“Please Jon. I can't fight. Don't make me do it,” Sansa pleaded.</p><p class="western">“It's not a matter of wanting to Sansa. You need to. It'll help Brienne protect you and it'll help me protect you if you can wield a sword when the White Walkers come. I'm not going to budge on this. I'll start training you in the next few weeks after I've finished organising my trip to the Wall. When I leave, Brienne can pick up your training.” Ghost nussled his head into Jon's hand.</p><p class="western">“Fine,” Sansa accepted. She slumped into her chair, submerging herself in her thick cloak. Looking up at Jon, a smirk prickled up on her face. “You're good at this.”</p><p class="western">“What?”</p><p class="western">“Ruling.” Jon chuckled. “You are. What you just did is a fine example: asserting yourself when you knew you were right.”</p><p class="western">It was at that moment Maester Wolkan slunked in from the Lord's Entrance, interrupting before Jon could make a reply. Noticed immediately, he looked towards Wolkan. Sansa did the same.</p><p class="western">“Two ravens, Your Grace. One from King's Landing and another from Castle Black,” the Maester said calmly. Jon took the scrolls from him.</p><p class="western">“Thank you Maester,” Jon replied.</p><p class="western">After placing the scroll from Castle Black on the high table, Jon unravelled it's partner before reading aloud so Sansa could hear. “'Jon Snow, you are hereby ordered to come south and pledge fealty to the Iron Throne. In return for your loyalty you will be legitimised and receive the Stark name. You will also be named Warden in the North and Lord of Winterfell. Bring your half-sister, Sansa Stark, when you travel south so she may answer questions regarding her involvement with the murder of the late King Joffrey. If you arrive in King's Landing without your half-sister or refuse to arrive at all, you will be named a traitor and suffer the appropriate punishment. Signed Cersei of House Lannister, First of her name.' So on and so on.” He replaced the scroll he was holding for the one he'd put down.</p><p class="western">“You've been so consumed with the enemy to the North, you've forgotten about the one to the South,” Sansa stated as Jon unravelled the second scroll.</p><p class="western">“I'm consumed with the Night King because I've seen him. Believe me, you'd think of little else if you had too.”</p><p class="western">“There's still a wall between us &amp; the Night King. There's nothing between us &amp; Cersei.”</p><p class="western">“There's a thousand miles between us &amp; Cersei and no attacking army has ever made it past Moat Cailin.”</p><p class="western">“You're her enemy. She'll never stop until she's destroyed you and she doesn't need an army to do it.”</p><p class="western">“I doubt any southern assassin would want to come North with winter here.”</p><p class="western">“You'd be surprised what men would do for a sack of gold dragons.”</p><p class="western">Jon thought on that before reading the scroll from Castle Black. At first he didn't read it aloud, thinking Sansa wouldn't care for whatever it had to say. That was until he saw the name 'Bran'. His eyes widened and Sansa noticed.</p><p class="western">“What is it?”</p><p class="western">“'Jon. We've received your message and agree to let you act as Lord Commander from Winterfell despite the insistance of a vocal minority. You should also know that your brother Bran has arrived here from north of the Wall with a girl named Meera Reed. I'm personally seeing them safe to Winterfell. Edd.'”</p><p class="western">Jon watched as Sansa's face turned to joy. She rose quickly to leave the hall. “I'll have a room prepared for when he gets here,” Sansa said as she passed him to leave thorugh the Lord's Entrance. Ghost came up to Jon as he stood and again nustled up against his side. Jon pet the direwolf. His thoughts lingered on Sansa's face as she left the room. The only time Jon had seen her that happy was when they'd reunited at Castle Black.</p><p class="western">Jon looked down to Ghost. “Come on, boy,” he said, gripping both scrolls. He left the great hall with the destination of his chamber in mind. Maester Wolken took the two raven scrolls to be organised. The corridors had sturdy wooden floors and strong stone walls.</p><p class="western">Jon arrived in his solar. His cloak came off, was folded neatly and placed upon the table. Then he placed his crown on top of his desk. Jon poured himself a cup of red wine and walked over to the window to look into the courtyard, noting Tormund talking with Alys Karstark. <em>She's quite comely</em>, Jon thought randomly. <em>Whenever I start to worry about getting married and producing an heir, perhaps I'll ask her.</em></p><p class="western">He also noted the stablehands moving horses, the workmen shoving snow and piling firewood, smallfolk who'd been allowed to live in the castle playing with their children. Jon feared that before long the people going about their lives would be replaced with the sight of soldiers from all over the North packing the courtyard to the last inch. If all things were to go well, there would be soldiers from the South as well. That would mean convincing a queen who hated his sister to fight alongside her. A knock was placed on the door.</p><p class="western">“Yes,” Jon answered. The door opened and closed behind him.</p><p class="western">“The servants are preparing Bran's old room,” Sansa said walking toward him. “He'll have the necessary furniture to move around by himself.” She joined him by the window. “Why are you brooding?”</p><p class="western">“If we're going to stand a chance against the dead then we're going to need the South to fight alongside us,” Jon told her.</p><p class="western">“How do you propose to do that? Cersei would never want to fight alongside us.”</p><p class="western">“But what about her brother? Jaime. I could convince him instead of Cersei to bring an army north to aid us in the fight.”</p><p class="western">“He attacked father in the streets of King's Landing, Jon. Why would you want to speak to him?”</p><p class="western">“How many times did you speak to him?”</p><p class="western">“I can't recall any conversations.”</p><p class="western">“Then how do you know what he's like as a person if you've never spoken to him? I only spoke to him once and can't base my judgement on him purely on his actions in the service of his family. I have to believe Jaime is better than his sister if I mean convince him to ride north.”</p><p class="western">“Brienne is the person to ask if you want to know about Jaime Lannister's character. She escorted him to King's Landing on my mother's order.”</p><p class="western">“Then tell Brienne I would like to speak to her about the Kingslayer at some point.”</p><p class="western">“I'll tell her when next I see her.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you.” Jon put his goblet down before wrapping his arms around Sansa. She returned the embrace. Sadly, he whispered, “We will make it through this Sansa. I promise.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Alys I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Karstarks and the Free Folk leave Winterfell.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Alys</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She put a boot in her stirrup and her heels into the sides of her destrier. The dark brown warhorse carried the Lady of Karhold out of the stable, into the main courtyard, with a controlled trot. Alys pulled back on the riens to stop her mount until her sworn sword – Ser Edmund of The Bay – joined her in the yard atop his own grey stallion. He had a head of hair to match his horse, as well as a big chest. The pair of them were the only two of Karhold to have stayed in the castle during this visit to Winterfell. Her escort of fifty soldiers were given a place in the Wintertown barracks. With Ser Edmund ready, Alys got her destrier to leave their current courtyard &amp; enter the northern courtyard. Her scowl formed as she set her eyes upon Littlefinger.</p>
<p class="western">When the master-at-arms of Winterfell, Ser Kyle Condon, had sworn loyalty to the Starks – having served the Boltons before they were defeated – he made it known amoung the visiting lords that Petyr Baelish had been the one to sell Sansa Stark to the Boltons. From what Alys had been told by Lord Manderly when she spoke to him during her first day in Winterfell, there had been an uproar from the lords that Lord Baelish be executed for leaving the Princess in the mercy of the Bastard of Bolton. However, King Jon had reluctantly refused: he reasoned that Baelish was needed due to him being the Lord Protector of the Vale, though Manderly judged that King Jon himself wanted to see Baelish <span>dead.</span> Alys did not hate her King because of it, in fact she respected him for it; being able to put aside personal feelings to maintain good relationships with other lords was a sign of a good King.</p>
<p class="western">She found Tormund Giantsbane, standing tall amoung the others in the courtyard and distinct with his red hair &amp; beard. He was speaking to Petyr Baelish. Cantering over to the pair, snow crunched underneath her horse's hooves. The metal work of her bridle &amp; saddle rang lightly as it rose &amp; fell with the motion of her horse. Coming to a stop a few meters from the two, Alys spoke with a blunt tone: “I wouldn't speak to that one if I were you, Giantsbane,” she advised, catching the attention of both of them. “He's a weasle and I'd be more pleased in the company of the rats that attack my food cellar.”</p>
<p class="western">“What have I done to offend you, Lady Karstark?” Baelish asked, his tone feigning ignorance.</p>
<p class="western">“You know full well that you handed Winterfell to the Boltons when you gave Princess Sansa to Ramsay Snow.”</p>
<p class="western">“Bolton, don't you mean,” Baelish attempted to correct. “He was legitamised.”</p>
<p class="western">“By a King not of the North and as a reward from the man who betrayed our last true King,” Alys spat.</p>
<p class="western">“Forgive me, My Lady, but didn't Robb Stark behead your grandfather. Why would you care so much for the Starks following that?”</p>
<p class="western">“He was beheaded for treason. I loved my grandfather but he should have thought twice about killing two innocent boys.”</p>
<p class="western">Baelish removed Alys from his attention to replace her with Tormund. “Thank you for your time, Tormund Giantsbane. Have a safe journey to Eastwatch.” He walked away toward the keep. Alys kept her gaze fixed on him until he walked inside.</p>
<p class="western">“Har,” Tormund uttered, breaking Alys' attention from Baelish. “I wouldn't think a lady from south of the Wall would speak with such a sharp tounge.”</p>
<p class="western">“South of the Neck you should say, Giantsbane,” Alys told him. “We northwomen aren't as soft as those pampered cunts with their balls &amp; silk dresses. The cold has made us hard like yourself.”</p>
<p class="western">“Har,” Tormund uttered again. “I see your point. What reason brought you to seek me out, Karstark?”</p>
<p class="western">“While taking the Kingsroad all the way to Wall and then heading east would be the quicker way to Eastwatch, I'd invite you and the Free Folk to travel alongside me and my men on our way back to Karhold. If we're to fight as allies, we shouldn't fight as strangers.”</p>
<p class="western">“True words, Karstark.”</p>
<p class="western">“Mount up quickly, Giantsbane. I wish to return home as soon as possible.”</p>
<p class="western">Tormund mounted up and he rode out with two other Free Folk leaders alongside Alys &amp; Ser Edmund. One was a grey beard with faint traces of red left in his hair and the other was a young man with a bald head. Her men were waiting a distance outside the northern gate to fall in behind her as she passed. The Karstarks followed the Free Folk all the way to the camp they'd set up a mile outside of Winterfell. They rode in and came to a stop as Tormund did, amoung the poor tents that the Free Folk used as shelter.</p>
<p class="western">“Why have we come here, My Lady?” asked the captain of her men.</p>
<p class="western">“Because we're riding alongside the Free Folk, Captain. It would be poor manners to ride ahead of our traveling companions.”</p>
<p class="western">“But My Lady, these savages fought against our own men.”</p>
<p class="western">“You can say the same thing about the King we now follow, so hold your tongue.”</p>
<p class="western">“Har,” she heard Tormund react. “Travelling north with you, Karstark, will be entertaining at the very least.” She brought her horse around to watch him dismount. “Now it will be some time before we're moving, but once we start, we're not like to move slowly.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. Eastwatch needs you and Karhold needs me.”</p>
<p class="western">Once the message got around the camp and the Free Folk started to move, Tormund's claim of not being like to move slowly turned out to be no hollow boast. They began to veer off from the Kingsroad, moving east over snow covered fields &amp; hills, following whatever roads they could find. Alys &amp; her soldiers rejoined him and the Free Folk leaders. With a second look at the young man with the bald head, brown eyes and scarred face, Alys found herself intrigued where she would expect the average person to be repulsed.</p>
<p class="western">“Who's this one?” the Lady of Karhold asked of Giantsbane while riding alongside the leader she was asking off.</p>
<p class="western">“Be careful of him,” Tomrund warned. “He's a Thenn. They used to eat people before they came south of the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">“Well, who is he?”</p>
<p class="western">“Sigorn,” the Thenn answered, his tone sharp. “Magnar of Thenn since your Crow King killed my father.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then I assume you'd want to kill him in return,” Alys replied.</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, but then he invited us past that Wall he &amp; his crows love so much and I decided hating his guts was good enough.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then we can ride beside each other as allies, Magnar of Thenn.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why? Do you love your Crow King that match you'd refuse to ride with me if I wanted him dead?” Alys couldn't think of a reply. Sigorn reacted by laughing. “Don't worry, Lady. I am no threat to you or your King Crow. Tormund Bear Fucker would kill me if I hurt one of King Crow's fire kissed bed warmers.”</p>
<p class="western">“Hold your tounge Thenn,” Tormund called back. “Snow'll rip it out if he hears that talk.” He then corrected himself, “Well, he's Stark now, but you get my meaning.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys face grew puzzled as she glanced between the pair of them. “'Fire kissed bed warmers?'” she questioned. “Why would His Grace rip out the Magnar's tounge for that?”</p>
<p class="western">Tormund waved his hand forward. “Come up here, Karstark.” Alys gave a nod to Sigorn before promtping her horse forward to ride alongside Tormund's. “We Free Folk call those with red hair, kissed by fire. That means me, that means you, that means Stark's pretty sister. It also means the spearwife that your King fell in love with when he was traveling with us.”</p>
<p class="western">Curiousity overtook Alys. “Tell this tale, Giantsbane.”</p>
<p class="western">“When I first met Snow, I'm gonna call him Snow because he had that name when this happened, he was a prisoner captured and brought before Mance Rayder. He thought I was Mance and called me 'Your Grace.'” A hearty laughed followed. “Sorry, Karstark. So, we have your King as a prisoner and he fakes wanting to join us so he can find out about the army Mance gathered. To get Snow to prove himself, Mance sent him with me and a group of Free Folk warriors to climb across the Wall.</p>
<p class="western">“Among them was a spearwife named Ygritte. Hair kissed by fire. Same as you &amp; me &amp; Snow's sister; like I said. A real woman. You'd have liked her. She was the reason we got Snow as a prisoner in the first place. He didn't have the balls to kill a woman and so he got separated from his other crows then Ygritte lured him into a trap. Either way, she came with us to scale the Wall and Snow wasn't seen without her. Got to the point where the two of them fell in love. And it was real love. Not the shit you highborns fake to get new lands. The first thing these two did once they reached the top of the Wall was eat each other's faces. Then Snow ran off to tell his crow friends that we were this side of the Wall and all Ygritte would talk about was killing him.”</p>
<p class="western">“And you took that for love?”</p>
<p class="western">Tormund nodded. “He betrayed her. Far as she was concerned, his life was her's. You see, to the Free Folk, marriage isn't all that saying words you southerners like so much. No. If a man wants a woman, he has to steal her to prove his strength. If the woman manages to fight him off, then he's not worthy of her. If she can't, then she belongs to the man.” Tormund chuckled warmly. “When Snow killed those she was on lookout with and tied her up in rope, Snow proved his strength.”</p>
<p class="western">“And so they were married?”</p>
<p class="western">“By our custom at least. Maybe not yours, they never spoke words in front of a Weirwood tree so the most any one of you kneelers would say about them is that they were lovers. But they would be wrong. The pair of them chose each other and it was a fucking shame when she got an arrow put through her. Snow took her body out beyond the Wall and burned her there.” He sniffed, his cheerful manner now one of saddness. “I feel sorry for Snow. He lost someone he loved.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys simply kept her face neutral. “So the Magnar calling her bed warmer would be an insult.”</p>
<p class="western">“Aye. To Ygritte and you.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys looked over her shoulder to see Sigorn; a frown his neutral face. An idea came to mind: one she could put into effect when she and her men parted ways with the Free Folk.</p>
<p class="western">“Tormund?”</p>
<p class="western">“Aye, Karstark.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do your marriage customs work both ways? If a woman steals a man, their married?”</p>
<p class="western">His eyebrows perked. “I supposed they would. Why do you ask?”</p>
<p class="western">She quieted her voice, leaning over toward him. “I mean to put the Magnar of Thenn in his place.”</p>
<p class="western">A devilish smile took Tormund's lips. “Har,” he chuckled quietly. “I'll help you. If I can see a Thenn taken by woman, I will be laughing until the Walkers take me.”</p>
<p class="western">So they rode on: Karstarks &amp; Free Folk. All the way across the White Knife and round the mountains on the east side of Long Lake, past the Dreadfort which had only a garrison of a hundred or so to man it now the Bolton's were defeated. It was at a crossroads a week into their ride that Alys brought her men to a stop and the Free Folk with them. She separated her fifty men and her sworn sword from the line of Free Folk traveling to Eastwatch before saying her farewells.</p>
<p class="western">“It has been a pleasure riding with you, Giantsbane,” Alys told Tormound. “But I must now leave your side.”</p>
<p class="western">“And a pleasure it has been for me as well, Karstark,” Tormund replied with a gleeful tone. “Now, I remember you speaking of an invitation to your stone home.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you for reminding me,” Alys said, sounding as if she hadn't needed reminding. She took her horse down the line of Free Folk until she came to the Magnar of Thenn. “Sigorn, Magnar of Thenn. I invite you and your Thenns to my home, Karhold,” she offered with confidence. “You will have guestright and more comfortable beds than you will find at Eastwacth.”</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn brow furrowed. “Why? Your King Crow told the Free Folk to go to one of his fortresses. Or are you more than just his bed warmer? His Queen perhaps?”</p>
<p class="western">Alys furrowed her own brow. “I remind you that you are in lands I rule over. I'd be within my rights to throw you in a prison for that comment. It is a slight against my honour and the honour of my King.”</p>
<p class="western">“I don't care about your fucking honour.”</p>
<p class="western">Her anger began to boil. “If you continue to treat my invite with such a disgraceful response, I'll order my men to pull you from your horse and I'll paint the snow with your blood. Now, are you going to accept my offer, or are you going to force me to lock you in chains so that I might deliver an appropriate punishment when I finally have you in Karhold?”</p>
<p class="western">The Thenn thought over her words. Tormund came down the line to join Alys. “Go on Sigorn, or are you that afraid of a woman's offer? I'm sure you father would geld you for such behaviour.”</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn sent a scowl in Tormund's direction before returning his gaze to Alys. “Fine,” the Thenn begrudgingly accepted. “But I don't see why you want my company so badly you're willing to kill me for refusing it?”</p>
<p class="western">“You'll see in time, Magnar,” Alys told him. The Magnar galloped off down the line to gather up his near a hundred Thenns. As he did, Alys looked to Tormund with a smirk. “I'll send a raven to Eastwacth telling you of how it goes.”</p>
<p class="western">“Har,” Tormund approved. “I'll ferment some goats milk to drink while reading it.” The pair of them returned to the crossroads where Alys' men were. There she waited for the Magnar. “I'll see you in time Karstark. Hopefully not as a walking corpse.”</p>
<p class="western">“And you too Giantsbane. Remember that if your balls start to freeze, you can thaw them by my hearth with a horn of mead to couple it.”</p>
<p class="western">“Har,” Tormund uttered one final time. “A tempting offer to take now, but I promised Stark I'd go to Eastwatch, so that's where I'll head.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys gave him a nod and moved off the road. The Free Folk began to move once again. The Karstark men were soon greeted by the Thenns. They were mostly men, a handful of women and a number of children. All of them with the same permanent frown. All of them with saddle bags full of food. All of the men with scars on their face. The Lady of Karhold stood in her stirrups.</p>
<p class="western">“Thenns from beyond the Wall, I am Lady Alys of House Karstark,” she announced. “I invite you all to stay in Karhold during your time south of the Wall. Each one of you will be given a bed, food and drink. I believe that together we can help each other survive the winter.” She directed her attention to Sigorn alone. “Ride alongside me for the rest of the journey, Magnar. Show your people that we are friends so they may trust there is nothing to fear.” He gave her a nod while sneering. Alys took her horse to the far end of her soldiers, with Ser Edmund at her side.</p>
<p class="western">“Are you sure this is wise, Lady Alys?” he asked with a concerned tone.</p>
<p class="western">“Worry not, my friend. I intend this to be seen as a display that the Free Folk are welcome this side of the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">“When in truth you mean to humiliate the leader of these people over a harsh comment.”</p>
<p class="western">“Not humiliate, Ser Edmund, only remind him he is no longer amoung those who will accept such comments.”</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn joined Alys &amp; Ser Edmund at the front of her men. “Lead us to your stone home, woman,” he told her bluntly. “I hate to see what awaits us.”</p>
<p class="western">“Worry not, Magnar Sigorn,” Alys replied. “The only thing that waits for you at Karhold is a warm bed.”</p>
<p class="western">The group of a hundred and fifty, or thereabouts, rode east. They had crossed the Last River – which was gaining layers of ice along its edge – two days from breaking away from the majority of the Free Folk. The rest of the journey should have taken five days, but became a week when a shower of reasonably heavy snow came upon them. Their cloaks were wrapped more tightly and their cheeks turned red. The snow became less of a problem once they entered the woods surrounding Karhold, but it still slowed their progress. Upon seeing the towers of her home through the treeline, Alys smiled.</p>
<p class="western">They climbed the stoney hill to the first gatehouse after night fell; its portcullus rising as they approached, the draw bridge already lowered. The thunder of hooves beat upon the wood bridging the gap between the two hills which held the gatehouse and main keep. Standing in the first bailey of Karhold was her Maester, Garrett, as well as her steward, Bennard – a bastard who had been born to a man-at-arms and allowed to work in the castle. She brought her left leg to the right side of her horse and stood in her right stirrup as her horse made its stop. Jumping to the floor, she greeted the elderly Garrett and the middle aged Bennard.</p>
<p class="western">“Welcome home, my Lady,” Garrett replied before allowing his face to turn grave. “May I ask who these people you've ridden in with are?”</p>
<p class="western">“They are Thenns from beyond the Wall,” Alys answered.</p>
<p class="western">“Wildlings?” Bennard exclaimed, shocked. “Why are they here?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because I mean to show that the Free Folk are now allies to the North,” Alys reasoned. “Maester Garrett, I must ask you to head to the Godswood, a marriage is about to take place.” She looked round to see Sigorn dismounting as the Maester walked toward the entrance of the Godswood. “Bennard, see that all the Thenns are given good beds and a bowl of stew.”</p>
<p class="western">“These are more mouths to feed, My Lady. I'm not sure our stocks will allow this.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys shot him a glare. “My father saw that we lost mouths to feed when he foolishly declared for the Boltons. Now follow that order.”</p>
<p class="western">Bennard bowed and replied, “Of course, My Lady.” The steward walked toward the crowd of Thenns to begin speaking with them. Ser Edmund walked over to Alys.</p>
<p class="western">“Do you mean to do this now?”</p>
<p class="western">“I do. You will give me to him.”</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, My lady.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys pulled out her longsword, holding it in one hand and approaching Sigorn. When he saw the blade pointed at his throat, he and the other male Thenns went for their weapons. Her men pulled their own out. “Magnar of Thenn, if you would be so kind, please make your way to the Godswood with me.”</p>
<p class="western">The Thenn spat. “I knew this was a trick. What do you mean to do? Give my blood to the Gods and pray that King Crow comes riding here to fuck you good &amp; proper.”</p>
<p class="western">She kept her tone and expression calm. “Oh no. You have it all wrong. Move now please. Worry not for your people, they are safe so long they do not attack my men.”</p>
<p class="western">She jerked her sword in the direction of the Godswood. He complied and walked with Alys holding her sword close to the back of his neck. They moved quickly, entering the Godswood and passing by the trees all the way to the centre where Maester Garrett stood in front of the Weirwood tree. Ser Edmund followed behind them. “Now go stand by Maester Garrett.” The Thenn huffed then moved over to Garrett's side, the Maester visably uncomfortable next to the Thenn. Alys sheathed her sword. She looked to Ser Edmund and gave him a nod. The pair of them walked up to the pair standing in front of the Weirwood.</p>
<p class="western">“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Maester Garrett began, Sigorn's face growing confused.</p>
<p class="western">“Alys of House Karstark, Lady of Karhold, comes here to be wed,” Ser Edmund answered. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” He looked to Sigorn and the Thenn began to laugh.</p>
<p class="western">“So that's why you brought me here,” he realised. He laughed again. “You wanted me to be your husband. Well, well. I didn't realised you liked me that much.”</p>
<p class="western">“I stole you and you didn't fight me off,” Alys told him. “By your own customs I have won the right to marry you.”</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn laughed again. “Well played, woman. Alright, I claim her. Sigorn, Magnar of Thenn. What do I say next?”</p>
<p class="western">“You ask who gives me?”</p>
<p class="western">“Then who gives this Karstark woman?” Sigorn asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Edmund of the Bay, her sworn sword,” Edmund replied.</p>
<p class="western">“Lady Alys, will you take this man?” Garrett asked, a look of concern on his face.</p>
<p class="western">“I take this man,” Alys answered. Garret and Edmund stepped away. Alys took Sigorn by the hand. She pulled him to kneel beside her in fornt of the Weirwood. “Now we say a silent prayer to the Old Gods.”</p>
<p class="western">“Alright,” Sigorn agreed.</p>
<p class="western"><em>I pray this marriage is not the death of me.</em> <em>Please see me safe in this union so that it can serve as an example of the Free Folk being welcome south of the Wall. I pray that Sigorn does not turn out to be a vile man. Let him show a softer side for me. </em><span>She stood and Sigorn stayed kneeling for a few moments of more. When he stood, Garret identified a problem.</span></p>
<p class="western">“You have no cloaks,” he pointed out.</p>
<p class="western">Alys sighed, and ripped off her cloak. “Put your cloak on me, Sigorn.” He ripped off the sheep's wool cloak that covered his shoulders and placed it over her's. She pulled the Thenn down by his shoulders and kissed him. “I'm your wife now. Let's show the Free Folk they're welcome in the North.”</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn grinned a toothy grin and pulled Alys off her feet. “What now, wife?” he asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Normally you'd carry me to the feast, but I think we can skip that for the bedding.” Sigorn's grin grew. “I assume you're no maid, but I am. So be gentle.”</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, wife,” Sigorn agreed.</p>
<p class="western">“My name is Alys. Call me by it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Samwell I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam recalls his first day at the Citadel.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Samwell</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Sam sat in the lecture hall, listening intently, writing down notes. Maester Kennos spoke with a subdued voice that he put little engery into amplifying. Short, thin and bald, he was of the mind that novices should be giving their full attention to lessons, so every lecture he gave was deliberately quiet, forcing the attending novices to shut up and listen. Today's lecture was a detailing of the first Blackfyre rebellion. All the maester said was extremely interesting, but Sam couldn't help letting his mind wonder to the events that occurred on the first day of winter, when he arrived at the Citadel.</p>
<p class="western">Being left alone in the library, he'd begun pulling books off this shelf and that shelf; his interested perked by their titles. His eyes would flick over the description of the books contents to judge whether or not it would contain any possible information on the White Walkers and how to stop them. If it didn't he returned the book to the shelf then replaced it with another. After finding a series of six books that showed promise, Sam began to burn through the thick, leather bound volumes. There wasn't a pass time he found more enjoyable than filling his head with interesting facts about the world. But now he wasn't reading for pleasure, he was reading for duty: finding the information that would save Westeros. He read a page a minute by yellow candle light and golden sunlight directed around the library by the great lenses hanging in the centre of the enormous chamber.</p>
<p class="western">Not long after he'd begun had a dornish youth came into the same part of the library in which Sam was reading. He was slender, comely, with skin the colour of teak and a crop of curly black hair that was shaped into a widow's peak. At first he was just browsing the shelves, pulling out books and then turning to the first page, reading bit and placing the volume back on the shelf. But then the youth had asked whether or not Sam knew where to find a specifc volume. Sam had answered, “No,” before the dornish youth softly asked, “What is man of the Night's Watch doing at the Citadel?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm to be the new maester at Castle Black once I've forged my chain,” Sam said tentetive. The dornish youth sat down at Sam's table and pulled over one of the six books, flicking through the first few pages before saying anything else, his voice textured by a dornish drawl.</p>
<p class="western">“Do you have a name?”</p>
<p class="western">“Samwell Tarly, though friends just call me Sam.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm Alleras. An alcolyte. If you're to be a maester, why are siting here in the library? You should be speaking to the Sensechcal.”</p>
<p class="western">“I was told to wait here before being collected to see an Archmeaster.”</p>
<p class="western">Alleras stood. “Well, I can take you to see one of them if you like.”</p>
<p class="western">“Really!”</p>
<p class="western">Sam stood, closing the volume he was reading and piling up the books that he'd gathered. Alleras was kind enough to take half of them. The pair made their way down many a staircase, all the way to the bottom of the library; Alleras in front so he could lead the way. The Citadel seemed a winding labrynth of corrdiors to Sam, but the dornish youth navigated them as if they were nothing so elaborate. <em>What will the clerk do when he finds I have disappeared?</em> The thought made Sam a bit guilty, but not much. There was something about this Alleras that Sam trusted; as if this boy would listen to everything that had happened to him beyond the Wall and not laugh at any point.</p>
<p class="western">Their destination turned out to be a side building on the Citadel grounds. They walked down a cobblestone path leading from a small postern door on the side of the main Citadel building facing the Hightower of Oldtown. The Hightower stood proudly at seven hundred feet tall, made of gorgeous white stone. The side building was a tower that had smaller windows at the bottom than it did at the top. The stone it was built out of was plain grey, purple moss climbing up the sides. The front door was reasonably wide – a double door – and it entered immediately onto a staircase that wound its way around a central, loud-bearing pillar. The windows lining the sides of the tower kept the staircase well lit.</p>
<p class="western">“This is the rookery tower,” Sam guessed as they climbed, huffing &amp; puffing.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes,” Alleras confrimed, not huffing &amp; puffing. “It is home to Archmaester Walgrave, his specialty is ravencraft so he tends the ravens. Unfortunately, Walgrave is at the point of his life where his wits are getting dull. It's said mostly in jape but everyone knows that the Archmaesters are waiting for him to croak so they can assign a new maester to his position. There is also Archmaester Marwyn, who is the Archmaester with the mask of valyrian steel.” <em>Valyrain steel! So his specialty is magic.</em></p>
<p class="western">“If this is the rookery tower, why would the white ravens be sent from the Hightower?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because they get off to a quicker start that high up with all the wind. Besides, black ravens and white ravens have a tendacy to fight each other, so Lord Hightower allows the maesters of the Citadel to keep the white ravens in the top of the Hightower.”</p>
<p class="western">“Which Archmaester are we going to see?”</p>
<p class="western">“Marwyn.”</p>
<p class="western">At the top of the stairs was a simple wooden door. Alleras kicked it rather than knocking, hands occupied by holding onto the three heavy volumes that he'd picked up before leaving the library. The door was opened by a novice with ash-blonde hair and hazel eyes. “There you are Sphinx, I thought you were stuck trying to butter him out of the postern door, you were taking so long,” the novice said. “Samwell Tarly. It's been years.”</p>
<p class="western">“Leo Tyrell?” Sam said, astonished.</p>
<p class="western">“The one and only.” Alleras and Sam shuffled into the room the door entered. It was a living area. A large wooden table was surrounded by a number of chairs and a small kitchen sat in the corner. A few desks and bookshelves lined the rest of the walls. A hearth was burning warmly. As he closed the door, Leo said, “Seems the thieves you've been spending time with up at the Wall have given you some bad habits.”</p>
<p class="western">Sam and Allears placed the books they were holding on the table. “What do you mean?” Sam asked.</p>
<p class="western">“A raven arrived from Horn Hill a few days ago from your brother.” Leo went over to one of the desks and pulled a select raven scroll from a pile that was sitting underneath a paperweight. He brought it to Sam. It read: <em>Sam, Father is extremely angry at your taking Heartsbane. Expect men to arrive at the Citadel soon after you have. He means to throw you the dungeon for it. Stay safe and learn fast. I hope to see you again big brother, though not in chains.</em></p>
<p class="western">Sam went wide eyed. “Oh my,” he said.</p>
<p class="western">“I wouldn't worry about it Sam,” Alleras offered. “We'll make sure that sword is kept hidden and that you don't have to be dragged back to Horn Hill in chains.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you.”</p>
<p class="western">It was then that a short man with a thick neck and strong jaw came walking in from a empty door frame the opposite side of the room from where Sam &amp; Alleras had entered. He wore a leather jerkin that was being stretched out by an ale-belly, looking like a dockside thug. “This him?” the man said in a voice that matched his appearance.</p>
<p class="western">“It is, Archmaester,” Alleras answered.</p>
<p class="western">Marwyn beckoned Sam with his forefinger. “Follow me, Tarly.” Sam did as he was bid, being followed by Alleras. This set of stairs went up one floor before coming to a landing that housed a single door. The stairs continued after the landing. Sam guessed they would take him to the rookery and Walgrave's chambers. Marwyn entered the door.</p>
<p class="western">Marwyn's chambers were dark and messy. A small, unmade bed sat in the corner with a duvet that looked like it needed a wash. Tables and chairs were scattered through the room, covered in books &amp; scroll of parchment that varied between looking brand new &amp; centuries old. Old maps and faded tapestries hung from the walls in frames or by nail &amp; string. A hearth was lit and the cooking pot above the fire seem to hold a simmering gruel. The windows avalible to the room were covered by wooden shutters. The only light in the room came from the fire in the hearth and a tall black candle in the centre that looked to be made from dragonglass. Marwyn sat one of the few uncluttered chairs and gestured for the others two to do the same.</p>
<p class="western">“Samwell Tarly,” Marwyn said in a tone that could be considered pleased. “We've been waiting for you.”</p>
<p class="western">“H-h-have you?” Sam stuttered. “How? Why?”</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Commander Snow sent you here to learn to be a maester,” the old man stated. “Or am I wrong? I doubt it.”</p>
<p class="western">“N-no you aren't. That is why I'm here. B-but how did you know?”</p>
<p class="western">Marwyn pointed at the candle. “No doubt you recognise that as dragonglass.”</p>
<p class="western">“I do.”</p>
<p class="western">“Have you heard of glass candles, Samwell?”</p>
<p class="western">“I've read a paragraph or two. They allow people to see far off places and visit people in their dreams.” Sam stared at the tall, black candle. “That's one of them, isn't it?”</p>
<p class="western">Marwyn nodded. “It is. I've been looking after it for my duration as Archmaester of magical studies. It hadn't produced a flame since the last dragons died a hundred or so years ago, but one day I woke to it alight. The flame gets stronger everyday. Soon after I found it first alight, reports from Essos began to claim that dragons were were alive again.”</p>
<p class="western">“Are you saying the dragons caused it to start burning?” Sam questioned.</p>
<p class="western">“I am. Magic died with when the dragons died; and now the dragons are reborn, so is magic. I first used the candle to look east and confirm the reports of dragons. They were true. I then looked north to the Wall and I found you &amp; Jon Snow. And them.”</p>
<p class="western">“The White Walkers?”</p>
<p class="western">“The White Walkers.” Marwyn clapped his large hands once, then rubbed them together. “I was watching you and the Night Watch intently Samwell, but I would have you tell me everything you remember in case I misplaced any details.”</p>
<p class="western">Sam couldn't think of anywhere to start but from the beginning. Marwyn &amp; Alleras listened as he told them about first arriving at the Wall, how Jon had gotten the others to treat him kindly, his becoming a man of the Night's Watch, the story of Jon fighting the wight in the Lord Commander's chambers. Ranging beyond the Wall, Craster's keep &amp; meeting Gilly, finding the dragonglass daggers, the battle at the Fist of the First Men and how the Walkers had left him alive, the slow trudge back to Craster's and the mutiny that happened there. Saving Gilly and Little Sam from the White Walker. Meeting Brandon Stark in the Nighttfort. The battle against the wildings. Jon's becoming Lord Coammnder. Maester Aemon's death and what Jon told Sam of Hardhome. The journey here to Oldtown and what happened at Horn Hill. Sam finished by talking of the events of the day up to when he'd met Alleras in the library.</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you Samwell,” Marwyn said in a tone that could be heard as grateful. “I've no intention to startle you, but your friend Jon died.”</p>
<p class="western">“What?”</p>
<p class="western">“He's alive again, have no worry. He and his half-sister have retaken Winterfell for House Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“But how did Jon get brought back to life?”</p>
<p class="western">“He was ressurected by Melsiandre of Asshai using the life energy clinging to her after she had Stannis Baratheon burn his own daughter alive.” He gave a brief, disdainful chuckle. “And she thought it stopped that bit of snow.”</p>
<p class="western">“Sorry, Archmaester? What do you mean?”</p>
<p class="western">“Only death can pay for life and king's blood makes magic more powerful. Your friend lived because an innocent girl, who was the daughter of a king, died. And I hate to admit it, but it was necessary.” Sam felt himself frown.</p>
<p class="western">“Archmaester, why have you brought me here?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because while you are here to forge your chain, you are also here looking for secrets that could help in defeating the Whtie Walkers. Isn't that what Alleras found you doing in the library?” Sam nodded. “I intend to help you Samwell. Surprisingly enough, I want you to succeed in your efforts.”</p>
<p class="western">“How will you help me, Archmaester?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'll begin by allowing you access to the restricted section in the library. You'll have little luck finding anything useful in books outside the restricted section. Alleras and Leo will help you read, Pate as well. He is assigned to help Walgrave with his ravens but spends more time with me. I'll go with you to the library whenever you need new books to read. I'll also give you updates as to what is happening to your friend Jon, if you like.”</p>
<p class="western">Sam nodded. “I would like that.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. But before we get on with this, I must warn you Sam, do not speak a word of what you do here to anyone beside myself, Alleras, Leo and Pate when you meet him, lest you want to get pulled into a quiet room only to recieve a swift blow to the back of your head.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why?”</p>
<p class="western">“You will have an easier time boiling the ocean than you will finding a maester in this Citadel and most the realm, besides me, who takes the threat of White Walkers seriously.” His voice was filled with disgust. “This institution decries the idea that magical creatures have a place in the world and – as a result – the realm has gotten to the point where fighting over who gets to sit on the best chair is more important than ensuring our survivial against the worst threat the world will ever see. A threat that, if successful in its efforts, will plunge the world into an eternal winter that will see even the Hightower buried in snow. I respect my fellow maesters, but none of them will treat your efforts to find the solution to stopping the White Walkers as little more than a foolish endevour.”</p>
<p class="western">Sam nodded. “Alright. How will I go about becoming a novice? I was told to wait in the library, so I could be taken to see another archmaester.”</p>
<p class="western">“I can say that you saw me and that will be good enough for the other archmaesters. I'll have you put with Pate helping Walgrave to tend the ravens since it's what you did at the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">“There is one more issue I have, Archmaester.”</p>
<p class="western">“That Gilly girl and her son.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes.”</p>
<p class="western">Marwyn waved his hand. “I will do my best to organise a place for her to stay in the city. Go visit her when you have free time if you like but there is no way I could convince my peers to allow her on Citadel grounds other than that opening hall.”</p>
<p class="western">“So long as she is safe and comfortbale, it isn't a problem.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. I still expect you to keep to celebacy when you see her. I don't want the two of you rutting when you're alone and away. I'll be watching to make sure you don't.” That made Sam go red in the face. He found himself remembering the night Gilly and he had made love, feeling both shame &amp; excitement. Gilly climbing on top of him. Her pulling his cock out, jutting from his breeches like a fat pink mast, only to slide herself on top of it and begin rocking backward then forward.</p>
<p class="western">“Anyway,” Marwyn stood, clapping, bringing Sam out of his memory, “best we get you ready. You start as a novice tomorrow.”</p>
<p class="western">So started Sam's time at the Citadel. Marwyn found a place for Gilly in the city and Sam visited as often as he could in-between lessons and studies and reading books from the restricted section. A weekly ritual began: Sam, Alleras, Leo, Pate and Marwyn would waddle across the Citadel grounds to the library in the middle of the night to replace the books they had finished for ones they hadn't. Sam was the arbiter of which books and scrolls they decided to take with them, but he was never death to suggestions from the rest.</p>
<p class="western">When Sam heard of the news that Jon had been named King in the North and taken the Stark name, he could not stop himself from being extremely pleased for his friend. It was nice to know that he would never be treated as horribly as he had been when he was young and had a bastard's name. Though San was not sure how it would be taken by those who did not believe Jon had died and been ressurected. They would surely call him a deserter and an oathbreaker.</p>
<p class="western">The Tarly men arrived at the Citadel, as Dickon had said to expect, but they had been simply turned away. Marwyn had... 'convinced' the clerk on duty that day to turn the men away, claiming that no one by the name of Samwell Tarly had been admitted into the Citadel, not even as a visitor. Marwyn had watched the exchange with his glass candle and told Sam – who'd been sitting in the living quarters of the rookery tower – that he was no longer at any risk of being dragged to his father's dungeon in chains.</p>
<p class="western">All of that lead up to where Sam was now: sitting on his arse listening to an aging maester speaking quietly about the Blackfyre rebellion that had been put to an end when the Battle of the Redgrass Field was won by the trueborn Targaryens instead of the pretneder Daemon Blackfyre.</p>
<p class="western">After the lecture, Sam gathered his notes and waddled over to the rookery tower for an evening meal of gruel and thin ale with Alleras, Leo, Pate, Archmaester Marwyn &amp; Archmaester Walgrave. Pate had turned out to be pasty-faced and soft while Walgrave was like any other old man; grey haired with wrinkled skin. Their group of six felt as much a like a family unit as he supposed a group of novices, acotlytes and Archmaesters living together in the Citadel could. Sam was all the happier for it. After supper, he read until his eyes were threatening to close of their own accord before heading off to bed in the set of rooms underneath the rookery.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. I needed to reference the fat pink mast.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Sansa I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon begins teaching Sansa swordplay and a raven comes from the Riverlands.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Before you read, some necessary context: I have zero sympathy for Sansa following Season 5 and all the stupid decisions she makes. The beginning of this chapter is me writing something that would restore my sympathy for her.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Sansa</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Sansa opened her eyes, crusty with sleep, to a grey room. The only light was bleeding in through the edges of the wooden shutters. It was the day Jon had promised to start teaching her swordplay. She pushed her duvet down the double bed of the Lord's Chamber and spun her legs round to stand. Her body ached and her lower torso felt crampped. The wood beneath her bare feet was cold &amp; hard. A chill travelled the length of her body as she moved to her dresser, despite the air being heated by the hot springs beneath Winterfell.</p>
<p class="western">As she began to produce <span>fresh</span> clothes from its drawers, Sansa knew a dress would not do for sparring clothes. So, she pulled out a pair of breeches she'd taken from the store rooms, leather gloves lined with fur and a dark blue tunic she'd made herself: upon its back was an embroidered direwolf coloured grey, running toward its prey, the insides of the tunic lined with wolf fur. The clothes were placed at the foot of the bed and Sansa noticed the patch of red on the mattress. Her instinct was to look in the tall mirror hanging from the wall next to her dresser. The small, partnering patch of red was on her light grey nightshift, centring where her legs met her hips.</p>
<p class="western">She sighed. <em>The rag didn't work.</em> Pulling the shift over her head, gooseprickles rose on the surface of her skin; her was back stiff from the scars lining it. Her smallclothes were stained red and the tops of the insides of her thighs were crusted with a thin layer of moonsblood. She pulled off her smallclothes, the rag sitting inside them was soaked with blood. She sighed again. <em>Ruined smallclothes, ruined nightshift, ruined bedsheets. What a way to start the day. </em>The thought of having to tell a housekeeper to change the sheets still left her embrassassed as they'd know she was at that point in the moon's cycle. She looked back in the mirror, observing the marks covering her body.</p>
<p class="western">A shallow crater of scar tissue sat where her left nipple should have been. Ramsay had said, “Not to worry. It will only be a problem if we have twins,” as he took a knife to it; he'd only managed to because his men helped tie Sansa's wrists and ankels to the bedposts with rope. On her abdomen were burn marks where he'd dripped candle wax and patchs of scar tissue where the bastard had brought a potatoe peeler to her skin; he'd always wanted to be creative with his torture. There were also many thin lines of scar tissue from where Ramsay had simply dragged the edge of his blade against her skin. While she couldn't see them in the mirror, her rump &amp; the backs of her legs were spotted with awful burns where Ramsay had held a red hot poker against her skin. Sansa may have fed him to the dogs, but these scars would never completely fade. They'd be a lasting reminder of what he'd done to her. A single tear left her eye.</p>
<p class="western">The nightmares had stopped for the nonce: she'd been sleeping soundly for the last week. Sansa hated herself for the night she'd gone to Jon's room and asked him to stay up with her, like she'd done with her parents as a child. Once awake it had still felt as if the blade was cutting into her breast, so much so that she knew she wouldn't have been able to return to sleep for fear of resuming the dream. She had no right to deprive Jon of his own sleep but he never voiced any grievance.</p>
<p class="western">Pouring water into a basin, she soaked a cloth and cleaned away the dried blood on her legs. The blood was a darker shade of red than the patch of auburn curls above her womanhood. She was glad Ramsay hadn't damaged that. Sansa smiled at the thought of one day bearing children; placed in her womb by a man she cared for and who loved her. But she thought it unlikely. What lord would waste a son on a woman twice married with a broken maidenhead? She may have been Princess of the North but it would be Jon's sons who would rule following him, then Bran's after his, before her own children would have a chance, so she doubted any of the lords would marry her for the prospect of their children gaining the crown. She pushed away the thought of her brothers' children dying so her's could be rulers of the North. She did not want to wish death on nephews &amp; nieces that had yet to be conveived just so her own children could wear a crown.</p>
<p class="western">Sansa returned to the dresser, summoning fresh smallclothes. On they went before the breeches she'd retrieved and followed by a wide length of cloth she'd found to wrap around her chest during her training to support her modestly sized breasts. The last thing she put on was the tunic.</p>
<p class="western">Before leaving, she braided her hair. Gripping the comb atop the dresser, Sansa ran it through her auburn hair. Jon had told her the Free Folk described red hair as 'kissed by fire.' She liked the phrased; it made her feel a bit warmer. As she looked upon her reflection in the mirror, the idea that she looked more and more like her mother with each passing day made its way into her head. While she despised Littlefinger, she could at least agree with him on the fact she was becoming the spitting image of Catelyn Tully Stark.</p>
<p class="western">With her hair organised into a single thick braid, she slipped her feet into leather boots that came to just below her knees. One final look in the mirror to confrim she looked her best and the Princess of the North left her bedchamber. Through her solar she walked – picking her cloak off of the peg by the door &amp; her tiara from the main table in the room – before stepping into the corridors of Winterfell; wrapping the cloak tightly around her shoulders.</p>
<p class="western">First of all, Sansa made her way to the staff chambers to tell the main housekeeper of her need for new bed sheets in the Lord's Chamber, only eluding to the reason why. The main housekeeper was a polite woman and replied, “Of course My Lady. I understand.” It was decidedly less awkward than what Sansa had pictured in her head. Following that, she made her way to the great hall.</p>
<p class="western">It was reasonably empty. Brienne sat with Podrick on one of the low tables eating black bacon and boiled egg. Jon wasn't seated on the high table but Ghost – lying next to where Brienne &amp; Pod sat – was locked in combat with the bone that was the last surviving part of the direwolf's breakfast. Sansa moved over to the direwolf with long strides and knelt in front of him. Ghost abandoned his duel to brush up alongside her and she replied by hugging him around his neck.</p>
<p class="western">“Good morning My Lady,” Brienne said after finishing her mouthful.</p>
<p class="western">“Good morning Brienne,” Sansa replied as Ghost lapped his tounge against the side of her face. She lightly massaged Ghost behind his ear with her knuckles. “Have you seen Jon this morning?”</p>
<p class="western">“He was in here earilier. I believe he mentioned overseeing the laying out of the trench.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa stood and went to leave but stopped when Brienne asked, “Would you like me to accompany you?”</p>
<p class="western">“It'll be fine,” Sansa gave Ghost a pet, his tounge hanging out, smiling. “I'll have Ghost with me.”</p>
<p class="western">Brienne gave a nod and Sansa left the great hall, then the main keep. She followed the gate archs to the southern courtyard; slipping on her gloves, Ghost padding along beside her with the bone held in his jaws. Looking up at the walkway she spied Littlefinger speaking with Lord Royce. <em>Why do you have to be in my path? </em>He smiled and gave a small nod but all she replied with was a her gaze &amp; a stotic face as she approached the stairs leading up to the walkway. She planned not to interact with him as she passed, hearing Ghost being to growl quietly. Her plans were thwarted, however, when Littlefinger stepped out in front of her, forcing Sansa to stop. Lord Royce walked away after being given a nod.</p>
<p class="western">“My Lady,” he greeted. “It is good to see you.”</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Baelish,” Sansa replied with a flat tone. “May I ask why you linger in Winterfell when His Grace ordered you to return home weeks ago?”</p>
<p class="western">“I've sent orders by raven regarding the new punishments for crimes and the orders to send all prisioners to the Wall. They will arrive in the Vale faster than I ever could travelling by horse, as I tried to explain to His Grace. Besides, I feel that my remaining here will be beneficial for His Grace, considering I have fifthteen thousand knights at my command.”</p>
<p class="western">“King Jon commanded Lord Royce to remain here for the express purpose of commanding the Knights of the Vale while you returned to the vale to run it as Lord Protector. By now you would have reached Moat Cailin, maybe passed the Neck.”</p>
<p class="western">“I have left competent people in charge of the Vale while I'm away.” He glanced past Sansa's shoulder to look at Ghost, whoes growling had not ceased. “I don't think your brother's direwolf likes me much.”</p>
<p class="western">“He is as much my direwolf now as he is King Jon's. His Grace told me so himself.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why are you so comfortable with your brother being King, My Lady? You dissappoint me.”</p>
<p class="western">“And I'll remind you that you are openly discussing treason. I'd be in the right to call a guard up here and have you escorted to the dungeon. I am comfortable with Jon being King because he is the king the lords &amp; ladies of the North chose. He is the king I chose. Besides, he is my father's oldest living child and my older sibiling. It is the duty of a younger sibling to honour the older.”</p>
<p class="western">“<em>Half</em><span>-sibling. Have</span> more ambition, Princess.”</p>
<p class="western">“It is my amition to help my brother rule the North. He trusts my counsel and considers me his top advisor alongside Ser Davos. I am comfortable with my positon. Now if you would excuse me, I must visit the rookery.” She did not wait for him to move out of the way. Sansa moved past Littlefinger on his right; so close, her arm brushed his, prompting him to grab her wrist. Turning to face him, her tone turned to low anger. “Unhand me, My Lord. You are overstepping your boundaries.” Ghost sensed her distress, letting out a bark before snarling, teeth bared. His bone clattered on the wooden floor.</p>
<p class="western">“Not until you listen to reason.”</p>
<p class="western">“You mistake folly for reason. I will not betray my brother by letting you replace him with me. You had your chance to speak against my brother being crowned after Lady Mormont made the suggestion. Instead you kept quiet as the decision was made. Now you have the audacity to claim that it is I who should wear the crown. Unhand me Lord Baelish or I'll give Ghost the word and he will rip out your throat.”</p>
<p class="western">Littlefinger let go of her wrist. No malice filled his voice: “Please, My Lady. What would your mother think to see you so timidly accept her husband's bastard as King?”</p>
<p class="western">“You have no right to speak of her.” Sansa sneered. “As much as my mother disliked Jon, I'm sure she would rather me accept him as King over you if she knew you gave me to the Boltons.” She didn't let him reply before turning round and resuming her journey to the rookery. Ghost followed close behind, abandoning his bone. He ceased his growling as they turned their first corner into the keep.</p>
<p class="western">Through the corridors they travelled, stewards &amp; servants giving small bows &amp; curtsies &amp; saying 'My Lady' as she passed. Each of them she replied with a hollow but expected smile. Her pace was brisk, fuelled by purpose. Every morning she visited the rookery to see if messages had arrived for herself and Jon. She'd bring his to him and he would always share the contents. The rookery was at the top of one of Winterfell's towers, reached by a wooden stair spiralling around the outside. One could not access the top two floors of the tower any other way; Maester Wolkan's living quarters being just below the rookery. She took the steps two at a time until she came to the rookery door. Three confident knocks were placed and Maester Wolkan replied, “Come in,” from inside. Sansa gripped the doorknob and pushed, allowing Ghost to walk in before closing the door behind her. The ceiling above vibrated with the noise of workmen reshaping the tower's roof, white light spilling down through the rafters.</p>
<p class="western">“My Lady,” Maester Wolkan greeted. Looking upon the Maester, she was reminded of all the time she'd spent in Winterfell as Ramsay's play thing. Wolkan too had to suffer the Boltons and he was one of the few friendly faces she saw during that time. He'd healed &amp; dressed the wounds Ramsay inflicted; even going so far as to sneak her supplies of Moon tea after the nights when Ramsay had felt in the mood to rape rather than torture her. It meant that Ramsay never got her with child: something she thanked Wolkan for every time he brought her the drink.</p>
<p class="western">“Maester Wolkan,” Sansa returned. “Is there any ravens addressed to myself or His Grace, King Jon?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. One,” Wolkan answered, picking up a scroll from his desk and holding it out. “From Lord Arwood Frey of The Twins.” Sansa took the raven scroll swiftly. The wax seal was blue with the twin towers of Frey pressed into it. Her eyes went wide. <em>Walder Frey is dead? What reason would his successor have to send us a raven?</em></p>
<p class="western">“Thank you, Maester,” hiding her confusion from her tone.</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, My Lady.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Sansa stepped back outside the rookery. On the balcony, with Ghost sitting by her legs, she cracked the wax seal. Normally she would let Jon break the seal and read first but this perked her interest far too much. Unrolling the parchment, she read the small, neat hand: </span>
  <em>To Jon Stark, King in the North, your half-sister, Arya Stark, has recently poisoned &amp; slaughtered a gathering of fifty Frey men, done so in revenge for the atorsity that was the Red Wedding. I am not angry for the killing of men involved with the event, they received an appropriate punishment. Rather, I am angry about the seven innocents that died in excess who had nothing to do with the Red Wedding. I myself had no part in the Red Wedding and, as the head of House Frey, sincerely apologise for it. I've released Edmure Tully from the cells my grandfather had him in and ask that you travel to the Twins to answer for your half-sister's crime. Ser Arwood Frey, Lord of the Crossing.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Tears began to well in Sansa's eyes. Arya was alive and now a murderer. Inhaling sharply, she looked down at Ghost. “Come Ghost, let's go to Jon,” she said. The direwolf stood in an instant, visably pleased at the prospect. The pair of them quickly made their way back down the stairs running around the tower's outside. She was just shy of breaking into a run, retracing her path toward the southern courtyard.</p>
<p class="western">Once there, Sansa left out of the open gates to be welcomed by a sight of the first wooden posts being placed in the ground. Looking at the sky showed the clouds coloured the lightest shade of grey. Light from the red comet that Joffrey had thought was a sign from the Gods on his name day pierced through; but she pushed her memories of that time away. She spotted her brother by his black hair, thick cloak and bronze crown. With him were two other men. Sansa walked through the snow, her boots sinking two inches into it, to stop by Jon's right side. One of the men he stood with was Rygel Woods, the castle steward, a portly man who lived in Winterfell while the Boltons occupied it. The other man was Ser Kyle Condon, the Master-at-arms, an old captain of Roose Bolton's who filled the role before Winterfell had been retaken. He'd fought for Bolton in the War of the Five Kings. Both men were loyal to the North, by extention the Starks. Neither had liked Bolton after his betrayal of Robb, serving only because they had sworn to, a fact that had convinced Jon to let them keep their roles in the castle.</p>
<p class="western">“So your trench is underway,” Sansa observed, her and Ghost coming to a stop.</p>
<p class="western">“And you'll be glad for it when the wights are at our door,” Jon replied. He turned his head to her and nodded. “Good morning, My Lady. I see you found Ghost. He wondered off and I didn't know where to.”</p>
<p class="western">“He was massacring a bone in the great hall.” She handed him the raven scroll as she said, “Arya's alive.” Jon snatched the scroll from her hand and scanned the hand writing, stuffing the paper into a pocket once finished. “What do you plan to do?”</p>
<p class="western">“I will not ride south,” Jon replied in a dark tone. “If Lord Arwood wants me to answer for her crimes then he can come here. As for Arya, if she ever decides to come back here then I'll have to put her on trial.”</p>
<p class="western">Knowing what the outcome of that trial would likely be, Sansa could not help herself from stating, “To take her life would make you a kinslayer, Jon.”</p>
<p class="western">He turned to her with a dark fire burning in his eyes. Sansa knew that he was speaking as a King and not her brother when he said, “And to leave her alive would be refraining from delivering justice if she did in fact kill seven innocent men.” He sighed, the fire in his eye extinguishing. Her brother stood before her once again and placed a hand on Sansa's shoulder. “But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now let us focus on keeping the North safe.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa nodded her agreement, before reminding him, “You said you'd start training me today.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon smiled softly. “I did. Head to the main courtyard. I'll join you there soon after I've gone over some things with Woods.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa gave a nod and returned inside the castle walls. Ghost remained with Jon.</p>
<p class="western">True to his word, it was only a short wait for Sansa when Jon came walking into the main courtyard with two blunt swords and a man-at-arms carrying two crude breastplates; Ghost padding along by his side. One of the swords found its way to her hand before Jon took off his cloak. Ghost sat patiently. Sansa gripped the sword in her hands: it was lighter than she'd expected. The handle was long enough to fit a second hand over the pommel, the blade shorter than that of Longclaw's. Jon took the tip of Sansa's blade and brought it up.</p>
<p class="western">“To start off,” he began to explain, “this is a blunt version of your standard arming sword. It'll be what you see most soldiers using on the battlefield.” Jon moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, angling her body. “Always try to stand side faced, your showing a narrowwer view of your body to your opponent.” After removing his swordbelt from around his hips, placing it with his cloak, Jon took one of the breastplates from the man-ar-arms. She remained side-faced as Jon slipped the breastplate over her head. “Armour will save your life.” He did up the buckles on both sides of the plate. It stopped at her pelvis, hanging loosely on her shoudlers, the curve of the chest portion large enough to accomidate her bust. “Chainmail is good. Plate is better.” The man-at-arms slipped the second breastplate over Jon's leather jerkin. Jon thanked him before saying he could leave.</p>
<p class="western">“Now,” Jon went on, “holding your sword out in front you is not going to stop an opponent coming at you by itself. You need to hold a guard postion.” Jon stood side-faced and held his sword pointed toward Sansa, the hilt by his right hip, gripped by both hands. “It's important that you can easily move your sword to deflect attacks away and then deliver counters. Copy my position.” Sansa followed his command. “Your heart, head and neck are the main targets when you're in little to no armour. If you were in full plate, the targets are your joints, where the gaps in your armour are. I'm going to try and hit your chest. All I want you to do is deflect my attack away. Got it?”</p>
<p class="western">“Got it.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon was quick and came at her with a thrust. Sansa flinched, bringing the hilt of her sword up via her left side, the tip of the blade pointing down to her right foot. Jon angled his sword downward as he slid it over Sansa's. The tip hit the centre of her chest. He brought his sword back and re-entred his guard position. Sansa did the same.</p>
<p class="western">“You need to do more than just bring your sword up,” Jon said to point out Sansa's mistake. “You've got to either push your attacker's weapon to the side or move your body around so they can't hit you.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm not strong enough to push your sword away.”</p>
<p class="western">“No decent opponent puts that much force behind their movements. A blow doesn't need much force to land a decent cut if the blade is properly sharpened and positoned.” He went over to his sword belt and pulled out his dagger. Holding his sword in the crook of his arms, Jon placed the edge of the dagger against his left thumb tip after removing his glove. Applying no pressure on the blade, he dragged his thumb tip along the edge, wincing some but not much. Blood began to well against the blade and separating the metal from the skin showed a modest cut on his left thumb that he held out to show Sansa. “See.” He wiped the blade clean with his glove then tossed both onto his cloak. He sucked the wound clean of blood and returned to his guard position. “Now, try again.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon thrusted. Sansa brought her sword up again and continued, forcing Jon's toward the ground. He responded by moving his sword in motion with hers and bring it all the way around to stop at her neck while her sword was still pointed to the ground. She flinched as she saw the balde coming toward her.</p>
<p class="western">“Don't over extend yourself,” Jon said, withdrawing his weapon. “You don't want your sword down by your legs. It leaves your head wide open and you won't be able to bring your sword back up fast enough to defend yourself.”</p>
<p class="western">“Alright.” She returned to her guard position.</p>
<p class="western">“There is more than just the one guard position. That one there is a long guard.” He brought the hilt of his sword up by his forehead, the blade pointed to the guard. “This is a hanging guard.” Jon placed his blade against his left shoulder, as if he were holding a rope over his shoulder to pull a cart. “And this beauty is called Wrath.”</p>
<p class="western">“How should I know which to use?”</p>
<p class="western">“We'll get into that in time. I just want to show you basics first.”</p>
<p class="western">A horn sounded from the direction of the northern courtyard: loud and clear, a single blast. A guard came running through the archway from the northern courtyard and shouted to Jon, “A carriage and horsemen from the Night's Watch, Your Grace.” Sansa and Jon looked at each other with huge grins.</p>
<p class="western">“Bran,” they said together. Their swords dropped to the floor. Jon grabbed his cloak and Longclaw, slipping the dagger back into its scabbard, before the pair of them went running through the yard to the northern gate; Ghost running at their tail.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not going to make a habit of author's notes at the beginning and end of every chapter but I wanted to recommend the YouTube channel Shadiversity. He does excellent videos on swords and other historical weapons and how they fit into Pop Culture. I would also recommend Episode 35 of Every Frame a Pause. Shadiversity is on it and they look at the Tower of Joy fight, Bronn vs. Ser Vardis, Oberyn &amp; the Mountain and Jon vs. Karl Fooking Tanner, discussing how accurate they are to real life swordplay.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Bran I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bran Stark returns home.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Bran</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Bran sat in the back of a carriage for the two and half weeks it took to get to Winterfell, only ever leaving it when they stopped to sleep for the night. Meera had sat next to the driver. It wasn't the most comfortable way to travel, but he kept himself wrapped up in a thick cloak &amp; blanket. Winter was here and he didn't mean to freeze to death before getting back home. Once they reached Winterfell, Bran knew his safety would be secure as it could be. He also held onto the sword that Meera had brought with her from the Three-Eyed Raven's cave: it was valyrian steel and named 'Dark Sister.' Another weapon effective against the army of the dead.</p>
<p class="western">Since connecting with the Weirwood tree just after Uncle Benjen had left him and Meera, Bran's mind had been a mess of infinite images. He knew to achievely any sort of clarity in the mess, he'd need to be next to a Weirwood tree. Luckily, there was one waiting for him at Winterfell. Every so often Bran would pull up his sleeve and a look at the icy, blue mark that the Night King had left on him. He knew by coming to this side of the Wall, he was risking the White Walkers being able to follow him. Benjen had said the Wall was enchanted with spells that wouldn't allow the Walkers to pass. If the mark had allowed the Walkers to enter the Raven's cave, there was a good chance it would mean they could now get past the Wall.</p>
<p class="western">Edd, the dour-faced Night's Watchman who'd met them on the far side of the Wall, had travelled with them down to Winterfell. Every time they'd stopped for rest and food, he'd told Bran &amp; Meera of everything that had happened to Jon during his time at the Wall: the wildling army, becoming Lord Commander, what happened at Hardhome and Jon's death only to be brought back by a red priestess. Bran had a hard time believing it at first but knew it had to be true; Edd had no reason to lie to him. He had also told Bran of Sansa's coming to the Wall – seeking help from her brother to retake Winterfell from the Bolton's – and then reaffirming that Jon had been named King in the North. Bran resisted the urge to correct Edd: Jon was – Bran knew now – his &amp; Sansa's cousin.</p>
<p class="western">When Winterfell was finally in sight, Meera turned round in her seat. “Bran, look,” she said, a joy filling her voice. “It's your home.” Bran did his best to roll himself over so he'd be looking in the direction the carriage was travelling. Seeing Winterfell again filled him with a happiness he doubted he'd ever felt before then. His face grew into a massive smile. The last time he'd seen it in person, smoke had been rising from its towers – a complete ruin. Now it stood, just as strong as it ever did. The towers seemed to have work men rebuilding the rooves to have steeper tops. The thing best was, inside those towers, his cousin &amp; sister were waiting for him.</p>
<p class="western">When closing in on the northern gate, a horn sent out a single blast for the castle to hear. Other work men were planting posts at regular intervals around the castle and Bran could only guess that Jon had set them to work, preparing defences for when the Walkers got here. The gates opened. Edd and another black cloak went through first, followed by the carriage. Two more horsemen followed the carriage.</p>
<p class="western">As the carriage came to a stop in the courtyard, Bran heard a voice yell, “Move!” It was accompained by two sets of running footsteps. Soon, Jon &amp; Sanas came running into the coutryard; Ghost following behind them. Somehow Bran's face grew into a bigger smile than when he'd seen Winterfell. Jon dropped the sword, cloak and crown he was holding as Bran began to push himself to the end of the carriage. His cousin &amp; sister reached the rear of the carriage as Bran reached it himself. He felt two pairs of arms wrap around him as he lost his seat and fell forward onto the two of them.</p>
<p class="western">Jon &amp; Sansa fell flat on their backs with Bran on top: all three of them laughing; a pack once again. For that moment, nothing mattered. Not the army of the dead. Not the bystanders watching the reunuion. The three of them laughed, lying in the snow, wrapped in each other arms. Tears ran down their faces. Bran moved and placed a kiss on both of their foreheads. Footsteps came from round the other end of the carriage and Edd's voice said, “So this is how you're acting now that you're King.” Jon took Bran into his arms and stood. After placing Bran back on the carriage, Jon pulled Sansa up from the floor.</p>
<p class="western">“I hope you've left the Wall in good hands,” Jon said to Edd.</p>
<p class="western">“Don't worry. Its in the hands of Kedge Whiteye who I named the first ranger once you'd left.”</p>
<p class="western">Bran grabbed Jon by the shoulder and his cousin responded by hugging him again. Looking at Jon, Bran thought, <em>I can't tell him. Not yet.</em></p>
<p class="western">“Last I heard, you'd gone beyond the Wall,” Jon said.</p>
<p class="western">“Now I'm back and you're King,” Bran replied.</p>
<p class="western">“You're a prince,” Jon told him. The smile on Jon's face faded and suddenly he looked very grave. “Bran, Rickon's dead.”</p>
<p class="western">Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “No. Osha said she was taking him to the Umbers.”</p>
<p class="western">“And the Umbers gave him to the Boltons.”</p>
<p class="western">Bran instinctively wrapped his arms around Jon. Sansa came to do it as well. Guilt filled his being. “I sent him away. I sent him away.”</p>
<p class="western">“You didn't hand him to the Boltons,” Sansa told him. “It wasn't you who put an arrow through him.”</p>
<p class="western">Once Jon backed away, Sansa came to hug Bran herself. “We can take you to see him,” Jon said. “He's buried with father. We also have a stone mason working on a statue for Robb.”</p>
<p class="western">Bran's eyes got redder. “Robb's gone as well?” His voice was weak.</p>
<p class="western">Jon slowly nodded. “He and your mother were murdered by the Freys and the Boltons. Do you want to go down to the crypts?”</p>
<p class="western">“No. I need to get to our heart tree,” Bran said calmly, wiping the the tears from his eyes. After the embrace with Sansa, Bran got Jon to carry him through yard; Ghost following alongside him.</p>
<p class="western">“Get Longclaw, my cloak and crown to my solar please,” Jon asked of Sansa. She gave a small nod and went off.</p>
<p class="western">“I was in the windmill when you ran from those wildlings,” Bran said. Jon eyed him.</p>
<p class="western">“I thought that wolf was Summer.”</p>
<p class="western">“And I was also at the place where you fought those Night's Watch deserters.”</p>
<p class="western">“Craster's? And you didn't call out to me.” Jon gave Bran a disappointed look. “I could have protected you.”</p>
<p class="western">“If I did that you wouldn't have of let me go to find what I needed to.”</p>
<p class="western">“And what was that?”</p>
<p class="western">“The Three-Eyed Raven.” They walked under the arch that entered the Godswood when Meera grabbed Jon to stop him.</p>
<p class="western">“Your Grace,” she began. “My name's Meera Reed. I've been with Bran throughout all his time beyond the Wall.</p>
<p class="western">“Then you have my thanks,” Jon replied. “See Sansa, she'll have the housekeepers find you a room to stay in.” Jon eyed the sword she was holding. “What's that?” Meera pulled the steel from its scabbard. Jon's eyes went wide when he saw it was valyrian steel.</p>
<p class="western">“Its name is Dark Sister,” she told him.</p>
<p class="western">“Take it to my solar when you find Sansa. I'll want to look at it later.” Meera curtsied then sheathed Dark Sister. She returned to the direction she came from. Jon entered the Godswood, walking through it to the Weirwood at its centre, snow crunching beneath is feet. The blood red leaves contrasted against the white surroundings.</p>
<p class="western">“Where's Sam? He wasn't at the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">“Down in Oldtown, training to be a maester.”</p>
<p class="western">“That's a shame, I would have liked to speak to him.” Jon put Bran at the foot of the Weirwood tree where his Lord Father would sit and clean his greatsword. Jon knelt down next to him.</p>
<p class="western">“What did this Three-Eyed Raven do for you?”</p>
<p class="western">“He taught me to search the past. He taught me to view the present. He taught me to glimpse the future.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon's expression told Bran he only half believed it. “Can you look for something that might help us fight the Walkers?”</p>
<p class="western">Bran gave him a nod. “I think that's the reason the Raven summmoned me.” He smiled. “Do you want to know who else I met beyond the Wall?”</p>
<p class="western">“Who?”</p>
<p class="western">“Uncle Benjen. Half turned into a wight.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon gasped quietly. “He's alive.”</p>
<p class="western">“The closest thing to it.”</p>
<p class="western">A smile broke on Jon's face. “That's good to hear.” He stood. “I'll leave you be. I've managed to convince Sansa into practicing swordplay.”</p>
<p class="western">“I wouldn't believe you before we left home all those years ago.”</p>
<p class="western">“Neither would I.” Jon bent down to place a kiss on Bran's forehead. “We prepared your old chamber once we got word. If you need anything else, just say.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you Jon. Tell Meera to come here once she's finished settling in.” Jon gave a nod and was off with Ghost by his side. As Bran watched his cousin, he took in a slow lungful of air through his nose. It smelt like home. He <em>was</em> home.</p>
<p class="western">Bran slipped his hand onto a root sprouting from the ground and – all of a sudden – the infinite images flashing in the back of his mind slowed, coming to the forefront. He was lost in the past, trying desperately to slow down the speed he traversed it. For all Bran knew, hours could have pasted for others already. Time was incomprehensable as all the history of Westeros passed in front of him at incredible speed. He was unsure what to look for first. He would be able to see his brith, his parents' marriage, Robb training in the yard, Arya trying to do needle work, Rickon playing with Shaggydog, the meal Jon had eaten on his sixth name day or what dress Sansa had worn to her wedding.</p>
<p class="western">To her second wedding.</p>
<p class="western">Night fell and Bran was standing in the Godswood as Theon escorted Sansa toward the two men standing in front of the Weirwood: their names Roose &amp; Ramsay. A sudden anger filled Bran for no reason in particular but then he was standing in a bedchamber. Sansa was tied to the bedposts by her wrists &amp; ankles. Ramsay knelt over her with a knife in hand. Bran wanted to leave but couldn't. His eye grew wide and terror filled him as he was forced to see his sister so brutally treated. Sansa was gritting her teeth; her face in anguish.</p>
<p class="western">“Not to worry,” the bastard said. “It will only be a problem if we have twins.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa let her scream release – it being the definition of suffering – as Ramsay pulled away a part of her body. Bran awoke from his venture into the past as if he'd fallen in the middle of a dream, his body jolting. He let out his own scream and breathed heavily. Meera knelt over him.</p>
<p class="western">“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.</p>
<p class="western">Bran calmed his breathing. The Godswood was still bright with the morning sun but he had to be sure of how long he'd been gone. “Did we just arrive at Winterfell?” he asked Bran.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes,” Meera replied. “Jon said you wanted me here.”</p>
<p class="western">Bran nodded. “I did.”</p>
<p class="western">“What for?”</p>
<p class="western">“You're the only person who understands what I can do, at least for now. I need you to stay with me.”</p>
<p class="western">Meera frowned. “Bran, its a sweet thing to ask but I need to get home. I haven't seen my parents since Jojen and I left to find you. They need to know Jojen is gone.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then send a raven to your father. Tell him that Prince Bran orders him to make for Winterfell to discuss an urgent matter.”</p>
<p class="western">“What urgent matter?”</p>
<p class="western">“Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targerygen. Your father is the last person alive who went to the Tower of Joy where my father was given Jon to look after.”</p>
<p class="western">Shock painted her face. “You've got to tell Jon.”</p>
<p class="western">“No. I need proof and your father is the closest thing I have to it. All the Lords of the North know how close our fathers were and they will trust your father's word if he tells them the truth. Please don't tell Jon. Don't tell Sansa. Don't even write in your raven scroll the truth. I need to speak to him about it in person.”</p>
<p class="western">“But Greywater Watch moves. No raven will be able to find it.”</p>
<p class="western">“Send the scroll to Moat Cailin, I'll warg it when it gets close.”</p>
<p class="western">“Alright.” She went to leave but Bran grabbed her hand. Meera stopped and looked at him.</p>
<p class="western">“Also write that I request his blessing to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage,” Bran told her, his voice tender. “The marriage to take place shortly after my sixteenth name day.” Meera stared at Bran, mouth ajar before curling into a smile. She placed kiss on the back of his hand.</p>
<p class="western">“I'll see the Maester and be back here soon.” She walked off. Leaving Bran alone again.</p>
<p class="western">His hand returned to the Weirwood root, slipping himself into the past once more. And he returned to seeing his sister's breast being mutilated before slipping to a different image. It felt like when he would begin to slip into his slumber. An image thought of consciously that flows to a different one he wouldn't think was related: leading to an eventual labrynth of his mind. So many images flashed before him until he could find one he wanted to view.</p>
<p class="western">He stood in the Godswood, seeing himself in front of the Weirwood; lost in the past. An inescapable urge to visit the crypts fell upon Bran. Leaving the Godswood, he saw Ghost: the white direwolf padding through the snow, avoiding people at work in the yard. The wolf came to a stop and looked toward him. Bran knew full well that it was impossible to be seen by anyone but the direwolf still seemed aware of him; maybe catching a peculiar scent from where Bran stood.</p>
<p class="western">Regardless, Ghost continued through the courtyard, having inspected what he meant to. Bran moved in the direction of the crypts and descended into the depths of the castle. His urge brought him to the edge of the crypts that would be closest to the Godswood. A section of wall faded away to reveal a chamber adjacent to the burial chambers of the Stark dead. Inside the chamber was a great throne composed of Weirwood roots; similar to the one the Three-Eyed Raven had sat in. Looking at the chamber's roof revealed, it was transparent. Bran saw himself sitting by the Weirwood tree for the second time during this vision.</p>
<p class="western">He was sitting back in the Godswood. Bran knew where he wanted to go. With the goal in mind, he began to crawl through the snow. The cold wasn't a bother. His will was pushing him to pull himself forward as fast as he could, one arm in front &amp; then the other. Around the frozen lake and into the treeline; Bran left a trail of flattened snow that someone could follow to him.</p>
<p class="western">No one else was in the Godswood and Meera was busy seeing to the raven scroll, so Bran was pulling himself along the floor until he passed under the arch connecting the Godswood &amp; the northern courtyard. The guards manning the archway noticed him and immediately dropped their spears to hoist Bran up.</p>
<p class="western">“Are you alright, My Lord?” said the one with the thick, black beard.</p>
<p class="western">“I need to get down to the crypts. Bring a sledgehammer,” Bran answered. “Don't worry about the King, I will explain it to him.”</p>
<p class="western">The pair of guards looked puzzled, but the one with the black beard gave a nod to the one with a clean face. He walked off to look for the named tool and the bearded guard took Bran to his desired destination. Luckly, the guard was reasonable muscled and didn't tire much from carrying Bran such a distance. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Bran pointed in the direction of the wall that had faded away during his vision. When they came to it, Bran told the guard, “Set me down.”</p>
<p class="western">The guard leaned Bran against the nearest pillar and they waited for the clean shaven guard to find them. He'd gotten two sledgehammers. Bran pointed to the wall. “Knock it down,” he told them.</p>
<p class="western">“But what will His Grace say?” the clean shaven one asked with concern.</p>
<p class="western">“If he gets angry then he can betrate me not you,” Bran assured them. The two guards gave each other looks before nodding. The solid iron went into the old stone and bricks broke loose from the mortar. The noise echoed through the crypts, certainly reaching the stairs to the exit. The noise must have been heard in the courtyard because, when the wall was half way knocked down, Jon was running toward them with some men-at-arms; swords drawn and expecting to fight vandals.</p>
<p class="western">“STOP!” he ordered the two guards as he came to a stop. They did so and Jon looked to Bran with a hint of anger. “Why in seven hells have you got them to knock down that wall, Bran?”</p>
<p class="western">“Let them finish and you'll see,” Bran told him plainly. Jon's expression was that of confussion but he clearly trusted Bran's judgement and gave a nod to the two guards for them to continue.</p>
<p class="western">The rest of the wall came down and bricks were moved to the side. Jon brought Bran's arm over his shoulder and walked into the newly opened chamber. One of the men-at-arms had pulled a torch from a sconce and walked in with them. The Weirwood throne was just as it had been in Bran's vision; made of bone white roots that dropped from the ceiling of soil and continued it the soil floor. Clearly the roots emerging from the ceiling kept the soil bound together and allowed it to remain structurely sound.</p>
<p class="western">“Sit me down on it,” Bran told Jon. His cousin complied. Approaching the throne gave off a great sense of intimidation. It would help Bran see the past, present and future with greater ease, he had no doubt. Jon placed him down in the clearly defined seat.</p>
<p class="western">Taking a step back, he asked, “What is it?”</p>
<p class="western">“A Weirwood throne,” Bran answered. “And it will help me to find the Long Night in the past.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Jon II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon leaves orders before setting off for the Wall.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Jon</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Jon sat in his solar, examining Dark Sister. <em>Valyrian steel indeed.</em> It was a longsword with a slender blade. The hilt of gilded steel felt thin but he supposed that would make sense: it belonged to Visenya Targaryen when she, Rhaenys &amp; Aegon conquered the Seven Kingdoms, so the sword was designed for a woman's grip. But Jon thought that wouldn't matter much, so long as a male wielding it got used to the narrower handle by sparring with it. The gilded crossguard was fashioned to look like dragon wings that curled into the blade, with a ruby at the center. The pommel was shaped to look like a roaring flame. Soft, golden brown leather was wrapped around the handle, allowing for an adequate grip.</p><p class="western">“A fine sword, Your Grace, “ Brienne commmented, standing tall in front of Jon's desk, wearing her dark blue tunic with Oathkeeper on her hip. She was the first of the four people he'd summoned to turn up for a meeting. It was the day following Bran's arrival and Jon unfortunately couldn't linger in Winterfell, he needed to get to the Wall. This meeting was the last busniess he was attending to before he left.</p><p class="western">“It is,” Jon agreed. “The only problem I have is deciding who to give to.”</p><p class="western">“Perhaps you could give it to Princess Sansa,” Brienne suggested, “given you are having her trained to wield a sword.”</p><p class="western">Jon frowned undecisively. “I don't know. While I wouldn't mind giving it to her, I would rather give it to someone more skilled, more experienced, to maximise the effectiveness of the weapon.” He picked up the scabbard that lied on his desk and covered the blade with it, then placed the sword on the table. “Tell me about Jaime Lannister. Would he be willing to speak to me about bring an army north?” Jon had been so busy the last few weeks, organising the trip to the Wall; even he was surprised this was the only free moment he'd had to finally talk to Brienne about the Kingslayer.</p><p class="western">“If the opportunity arrives, I think Ser Jamie would speak to you, Your Grace. He's an honourable man despite his reputation,” Brienne told him. “I believe were I to vouch for your claim when you ask him to bring his army north, he would.”</p><p class="western">“But he'd still need Cersei's approvial,” Jon stated. “There's little chance of her answering a plea for help from the North now I've refused to swear fealty to her.”</p><p class="western">“If Jamie were convinced, he'd answer your plea regardless of what Cersei thought.”</p><p class="western">“Then I'll think about how to arrange a meeting between me and him.”</p><p class="western">“There's a chance for him to take his army North to help the Freys search for Princess Arya, Your Grace. While he's at the Twins the two of us could travel down to Moat Cailin and summon him there.”</p><p class="western">“That's if he goes to the Twins. And you are Sansa's sworn sword. I don't want you to leave her while Littlefinger is skulking around Winterfell.” He rubbed a bit of dust from his eye. “What I'll do is send a raven to Moat Cailin to report when Jaime goes to the Twins. They still have scouts patrolling the northern most parts of the Riverlands and are bound to hear word of Ser Jaime's arrivial should it happen. I will only bring you if Littlefinger ceases to be a threat.”</p><p class="western">“If that is your wish, Your Grace.”</p><p class="western">“Remember to keep an eye on him and stay close to Sansa while I'm at the Wall.”</p><p class="western">“Of course.”</p><p class="western">The door was soon knocked upon and Brienne walked over as Jon poured himself a cup of water. Upon her opening the door, Brienne turned back round and said, “Princess Sansa, Prince Bran &amp; Lord Royce, Your Grace.”</p><p class="western">“Let them in.” Jon watched as Brienne stepped aside. Sansa pushed Bran in on his wheelchair: a carpenter &amp; a blacksmith from Wintertown had been commissioned to make it when it was known Bran was coming to Winterfell. Jon was pleased to see an arming sword on Sansa's hip, clearing she was taking her training seriously. His two siblings were followed in by Lord Royce, who closed the door behind him. “Princess Sansa, Lord Royce, Lady Brienne, please all take a seat.” The four of them gathered round the table and Jon moved over from his desk to join them after finishing his cup of water.</p><p class="western">“Thank you all for seeing me today,” Jon began. “As you know, today I leave for the Wall. Lord Royce, I must ask before we continue, do you trust me?”</p><p class="western">“I may not approve of your choice to invite the wildlings south of the Wall but you are a son of Ned Stark,” Lord Royce replied. “He was a good friend. I would never suspect he'd raise an untrustworthy son.”</p><p class="western">“I remember when you two sparred during your stop here on your journey taking Waymar to the Wall. If you hadn't have been using a blunt sword then I fear you would have taken off his arm.” The jape prompted a chuckle from Lord Royce, as well as Bran &amp; Sansa. Jon returned to a serious expression before continuing. “From this moment and until I say otherwise, I need all of you to promise that what we talk about will only ever be discussed with the people in this room at this moment in time.”</p><p class="western">Lord Royce recognised the seriousness of Jon's tone and agreed. “You have my word, Your Grace.” The other three followed promptly.</p><p class="western">“At this moment in time, the biggest threat that House Stark faces, other than the White Walkers, his Lord Baelish. Do you trust him Lord Royce?”</p><p class="western">“Only a fool would trust Littlefinger.”</p><p class="western">“And if a situation were to arise where you had to choose between serving him and myself, who would you choose?”</p><p class="western">“You are the King I have delcared for. My King comes before my Lord Protector. And I will side with any Stark before I side with that weasle of a man.”</p><p class="western">“And will the Knights of the Vale act on your command before they do Lord Baelish's?”</p><p class="western">“They will. Littlefinger is still considered an outsider in the Vale from the ravens I've been sent by my fellow lords &amp; ladies. Before they left the Vale, every man was told to follow my orders above Littlefinger's should the situation arise where they needed to choose.”</p><p class="western">“Princess Sansa, if you would.”</p><p class="western">“King Jon and I have spoken about this matter and have come to the conclusion that Littlefinger is too dangerous to be left alive. He has admitted to me that his ultimate goal is to see himself on the Iron Throne with me as his wife.” Jon saw the shock pass over the three other faces at the final detail. “I know it is because he sees me as a replacement for my mother. Littlefinger will see becoming King of the North as a step toward the Iron Throne. To become King of the North, his only option is forcing me to marry him and seeing Bran &amp; Jon removed.”</p><p class="western">“That is something I don't mean to let happen,” Jon followed. “If I die, so be it, but I will not have Bran killed and I will not have Sansa forced into another marriage she does not want. <span>To</span> beat Littlefinger, we must play him at his own game.”</p><p class="western">“I've spoken with the steward, head housekeeper, Captain of the guard and Master-at-arms,” Sansa continued. “All have agreed to get there staff to relay anything they hear Littlefinger say that might hint at his intentions. I would ask you to do the same, Lord Royce. Any information you can give me will be put to good use.”</p><p class="western">“Certainly, My Lady,” Lord Royce agreed, then asked, “May I ask why else I might have been involved with this?”</p><p class="western">“Quite simply, Lord Royce, I am putting you in charge of military operations while I'm away,” Jon answered. “Of course you will answer to Princess Sansa, but otherwise you will be in command of every last soldier, guard and man-at-arms currently staying in &amp; near Winterfell. Before I leave I will order Littlefinger to remain in Winterfell, he's had every chance to leave but has chosen to linger. Now I want him where we can keep an eye on him. If Littlefinger tries to leave while I'm away, remind him his king ordered him to remain in Winterfell. If he tries to leave again after that, throw him in a cell. Following that, if he tries to escape, mount his head and the heads of anyone who aids him on spikes above the northern gate so that I can see it when I return.”</p><p class="western">Jon's order managed to shock Lord Royce &amp; Brienne. “I believe these orders are rather extreme, Your Grace. Would you not rather he simply be beheaded?” he asked, concerned.</p><p class="western">“I learned when I was stabbed and killed by my own men that if my leadership is to be respected, I have to be extreme to those who would go against my orders.”</p><p class="western">“If you want Littlefinger dead I can provoke him into to leaving,” Bran suggested. “I can find something that he did in the past that I would have no reason to know unless I could see the past. I think him smart enough to realise that to stay here would be futile once he knew that I could find any wrong doings he's done.” Jon gave single nod. He believed Bran was telling the truth about being able to see the past. It wasn't a very far fetched idea considering all the things Jon had seen in his life.</p><p class="western">“Can I ask where the honour is in tricking a man into disobeying an order?” Brienne asked.</p><p class="western">“He has already openly discussed treason with me since Jon was named King,” Sansa answered. “I've even said to him that I'd be within my rights to have him executed. The only reason I didn't was because this was a private conversation and I would rather have him more openly commit treason before having him executed. I want to be able to provide proof of it.”</p><p class="western">“Very well,” Brienne accepted with a satisfied tone.</p><p class="western">A brief moment of silence was followed by Jon saying, “If that is all that needs to be said, then this meeting is ended. Princess Sansa, please go to the rookery and write a scroll to Moat Cailin ordering them to report when Jaime Lannister has moved north to the Riverlands. Lord Royce, please find Lord Baelish and tell him to find me in the Godswood.”</p><p class="western">“Certainly, Your Grace,” Sansa complied</p><p class="western">“It will be done, Your Grace,” Lord Royce told him.</p><p class="western">The five of them dispanded. While Sansa and Lord Royce saw to the tasks Jon had set them, he and Brienne helped Bran down to the courtyard. Meera had been waiting for him there, lazily sparring with another girl under the watch of a group of men-at-arms, following Jon's order of every able bodied person being taught to fight. She pushed Bran away and Brienne left Jon to find Sansa after she was done in the rookery.</p><p class="western">Jon made his way through the castle grounds to the Godswood, walking the path to the Weirwood tree. There he knelt before the Old Gods and said his last prayer before he'd return to Winterfell: <em>Old Gods of the North, see me safe to the Wall. While I'm not at Winterfell, watch over Sansa &amp; Bran for me. Keep them safe. I trust Sansa will rule the North well in my staed, none the less I ask you to her give the same wisdom I've asked for every time I've prayed. </em><span>Jon ceased his prayer when he heard light footsteps approaching, crunching into the cold, soft snow. He stood and turned round to see Littlefinger walking towards him.</span></p><p class="western">“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said in his permanent whisper. Jon looked him dead in the eye. “I did not wish to interrupt your prayer. I know you've taken to doing so each morning.”</p><p class="western">“Spare your false courtesy, Lord Baelish,” Jon said, his voice cold. “I've summoned you here to give you orders for while I'm away.”</p><p class="western">“I will be happy to accept them.”</p><p class="western">“Since you have lingered in Winterfell despite my order to return to the Vale, it's clear you wish not to leave. As such, you are to remain in the castle while I am delivering the prisoners to the Wall. If you do leave, I have given orders on how you are to be dealt with.”</p><p class="western">No change came to Littlefinger's face. He replied calmly, “I have no intentions to leave. So long as Princess Sansa is here, I will be here to give her adivce if she asks for it.”</p><p class="western">“I think you mean to say Catelyn, of course, that's who you see her as.” While Littlefinger's face remained still, Jon could see the unease in his eyes. “You have my thanks for seeing Sansa safe from King's Landing and you have my thanks for aiding me &amp; my men when we were surely dead. But you sold Sansa to a sadistic bastard who tortured her for fun and you want her for your wife. If you leave Winterfell or make moves to remove me and Bran before forcing Sansa to marry you, I will have no choice but to have you executed for treason.”</p><p class="western">“Forgive me My King, I would say that you too see someone else in your sister,” Baelish replied, taking a step forward. “I was able to speak to that Tormund character before he went off to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He told me how he came to meet you, even told me of the spearwife you snuck off with one night and what colour hair she had.” Jon felt a sneer forming on his face. “One might think with all that time you spent away from her, you stopped seeing Sansa as your sister. Once she appeared at Castle Black, with a stronger will than ever and hair kissed by fire, you might have begun to see her as a lover and not a sibling.”</p><p class="western">Jon did not react with violence: that would be exactly what Littlefinger wanted. “If you take me for some vile bastard who wants to see his sister in his bed, then you are a very poor judge of character, My Lord. And you have no right to speak about Ygritte. ”</p><p class="western">“But how will the northern lords react when they hear their king lied with a wildling? While they have accepted them being this side of the Wall, it is certain that some still don't like them. And this happened when you were still held to your Night's Watch vows.”</p><p class="western">“I don't care. I'll tell them the truth of it. I was following orders given to me by a superior.”</p><p class="western">He walked past Littlefinger – not allow a reply – and back down the path that led to the archway. Ghost sat waitng in front of the arch when Jon emgered. The direwolf received a pet on the head before the pair of them found their way to where the black cloaks who'd brought Bran &amp; Meera were mounting up. The carriages he'd requested were being loaded with barrells of water &amp; pitch as well as all the prisioners that had been in the Winterfell dungeon and the Wintertown lock up. He was brought his horse by a stablehand. Jon looked to the walkway running along the side of the keep and spotted Sansa, watching the men preparing to leave with Brienne standing beside her. After he met Sansa's eyes, she said a word to Brienne then made her way down into the courtyard and toward Jon.</p><p class="western">“Winterfell is yours, Princess Sansa,” Jon told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Look after it while I'm gone.”</p><p class="western">Sansa handed him a raven scroll. “Lord Manderly and Lord Davos have departed White Harbour. They should arrive on Dragonstone in at least two weeks if the winds are kind.”</p><p class="western">“That's good,” Jon said, handing back the scroll. “It means we're like to have a supply of dragonglass arriving in at least a month and a half.” Sansa pocketed the scroll.</p><p class="western">“Don't die while you're up north. Half of them will want your head for being named King and there's every possiblity Littlefinger has a man amoung the men going with you.” Ghost nuzzled into her side. She replied by scatching behind the direwolf's ear.</p><p class="western">“I'll have Edd with me.”</p><p class="western">He heard a horse walk up behind him and Edd saying, “Aye. You will.” Edd looked down at Sansa. “Don't worry, Sansa. If he dies again, I'll kill him.”</p><p class="western">Sansa chuckled, scratching underneath Ghost's chin. She put her tongue in her cheek and said, “If he dies again, I'll help you.”</p><p class="western">“You two are discussing treason,” Jon said with an ironic smile, switching his attention between the two of them. “I could take your heads off for it.” The three of them chuckled and Jon returned his attention to Sansa. “I'm going to miss you.”</p><p class="western">“It's the same for me,” Sansa assured him. “Aren't you going to wear your crown to the Wall?”</p><p class="western">“Half of the brothers would steal it and the rest of them will bring back an old joke.”</p><p class="western">“King Snow,” Edd followed with his own ironic smile. Jon gave him a grave look.</p><p class="western">“Don't start.” Edd moved of as Jon returned his gaze to Sansa, “Remember what to do if Baelish tries to leave.”</p><p class="western">“I'll order the guards to find me if he does.”</p><p class="western">Jon smiled. “I don't know what else to say. Keep warm. Don't burn down the castle.” Sansa chuckled and Jon saw she was beginning to tear up. “I promise to be home in a month.”</p><p class="western">“Not a day later,” Sansa replied, a sadness filling her tone. Jon brought her into his arms and held her tight.</p><p class="western">“Not a day later,” Jon promised. Leaving the embrace, he kissed her forehead. “You can throw me in a cell if am.”</p><p class="western">Sansa grinned, letting out a laugh. “I'll hold you to that.”</p><p class="western">Jon grinned as well. “I believe you would.”</p><p class="western">“Now get on your horse and leave, before I decide that Edd can escort the men by himself.”</p><p class="western">He pulled himself onto his horse, a garron that could handle the long distance in poor weather. “Farewell, Sansa.”</p><p class="western">“Farewell, Jon.” Sansa crouched down to hug Ghost before kissing him on his mussle. The direwolf's reply was the licking he gave her face. She chuckled. “Look after Jon,” she told Ghost.</p><p class="western">Jon brought his horse around, walking it to Edd's side. The train of horses &amp; carriages was ready, so Jon put his heels into his horse, beginning his journey to the Wall. Once outside the gate, he took note of the workers beginning to dig up snow and dirt with large spades. He smiled knowing that by the time he was back the trench would have made good progress. Ghost passed in-between Jon and Edd to lead the train leaving the castle. Instinctively, Jon looked behind him and up to the ramparts above the gate. Sansa had moved from the courtyard was now watching him ride away from the castle. He raised his hand high into the air as a final farewell. She did the same. Looking behind her, Jon saw the towers of Winterfell – their roofs being rebuilt at higher angles – and the red comet that had appeared when Jeor Mormont had lead the great ranging beyond <span>the</span> Wall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Davos I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The northern fleet sails to Dragonstone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Davos</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The last time Davos had been on a ship's deck was when he sailed north from Dragonstone to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, answering the Night's Watch's call for aid. Now he was heading back to Dragonstone, from White Harbour instead of Eastwatch, to mine the dragonglass in its cave and hold it as Lord, in the name of his new King.</p>
<p class="western">A raven had been sent from Winterfell ahead of Davos and Lord Manderly leaving, that ordered the ships in the harbour to the be prepared to sail. By the time the two lords had reached the city, after nearly two weeks of riding along the White Knife, only two days work remained preparing the ships for a voyage to Dragonstone. The cargo holds of the flagship and ten other ships had been used to store mining equipment. Another twenty holds carried the men who'd use the equipment and the rest of the near a hundred ships were battleships, carried food &amp; supplies or soldiers who'd garrison the island. At first light on the Davos' third day in White Harbour, the oars were dipped and the ships set sail.</p>
<p class="western">Lord Manderly's flagship was called <em>The Merman</em>. She had three tall masts: one on the forecastle, one at the centre and the last at the back of the main deck, just before the quarterdeck. Fifty oarsmen were on either side, pushing the great vessle along the White Knife into the open water of the Bite. With the wind pushing south east, the massive sails that bore the merman of Manderly were dropped. The Onion Knight could not think of a finer vessel he'd had the pleasure of sailing aboard. He stood at the bow of the ship, at ease, looking over the open ocean.</p>
<p class="western">Some rain decided to fall an hour after leaving the mouth of the river. It was not much, but the last thing Davos wanted was to have his clothes get wet only for him catch a chill later. He made his way along the length of the main deck after descending the forecastle, then stepped into the cabin at the back of the ship. Lord Manderly sat at a table, tucking into a greasy, spit-roasted capon. Davos felt his stomach rumble and could not help but ask, “Would you mind sharing some of that?”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Manderly grinned. “Of course not, Lord Davos,” he answered before cutting up the bird and placing some of the meat on a spare plate. Davos sat and began to tuck in, not bothering to use a knife &amp; fork, only because Manderly did not either. The meat was well seasoned and pleasantly hot, clearly the Lord of White Harbour was someone who appreciated good food. They drank some wine with the capon, but is was sour in taste.</p>
<p class="western"><span>On their ride down to White Harbour, Davos had spoken a decent amount to the fat lord. Their first conversation happened as they left the southern gate of Winterfell. All the time he was worrying for the poor draught horse that Manderly used for his personal mount. It was the biggest horse Davos had ever seen, no doubt specifcally chosen because it could bare Manderly's weight. </span>“So Lord Davos, what history do you have upon the seas?” the Lord of White Habour had asked in a booming voice that commanded respect.</p>
<p class="western">“I was a smuggler,” Davos answered plainly.</p>
<p class="western">A large grin grew on Wyman's face. “And I bet you smuggled in &amp; out of my port on several occassions.”</p>
<p class="western">Davos gave two short nods. “When I began to serve Stannis, he saw me pay for my crimes.” He pulled the glove off his right hand – still keeping a hold on the riens – to show Lord Manderly the shortened fingers. “You needn't worry about me smuggling anymore.”</p>
<p class="western">“Of course not,” Lord Manderly chuckled. “You've gone from smuggler to the second most powerful man in the North.” He chuckled again before following with his second question. “So what should we expect once we make land on Dragonstone?”</p>
<p class="western">“An abandoned fortress if Cersei hasn't retaken it,” Davos answered. “I don't know where the dragonglass is on the island but I'm sure it won't take long to find.”</p>
<p class="western">“It had better not,” Manderly hoped. “The last thing I would want is to be come upon by whatever fleet the Lannisters have in King's Landing. I want the first shipment of dragonglass returning home soon.”</p>
<p class="western">“As do I,” Davos agreed. “I've no doubt the smallfolk on the island will help us find it.” He looked up to the sky. The red comet's light bled through the grey clouds. “That comet's back in the sky.”</p>
<p class="western">Manderly looked up. “So it is.”</p>
<p class="western">“When it last appeared, the Lady Melisandre thought it was a sign from her Red God to tell her that Stannis was her Prince that was Promised. Now it's back and Jon is supposed to be the Prince that was Promised.”</p>
<p class="western">“The only godly sign I care for is the seven statues in my sept and the face on a Weirwood tree.”</p>
<p class="western">“I don't blame you. At least your gods don't tell you to burn the gods of others.” <em>Or innocent little girls. </em><span>Davos wondered how far Melisandre had gotten south and exactly where she was. If the Gods were good, he would never have to see her again; but then again, it would be sweet to see justice done to the Red Woman. </span><em>And I pray Jon would let me pass the sentence, so I could swing the sword.</em></p>
<p class="western">The rain continued for the rest of the voyage's first day and all their time sailing the Bite. The wind got stronger everyday. The smaller ships in the fleet began creeping ever so slightly ahead. Davos could do little, he was sad to admit to himself: the crew had their jobs well in hand. Instead, he discussed with Lord Manderly the things they would do upon landing on Dragonstone. There were deepwater ports the western side of the island, so the fleet would who have to travel round the island to make port. Before <em>The Merman </em><span>did that, however, Davos, Lord Manderly and a group of soldiers would beach themselves on the eastern side of the island close to where the fortress was and meet with the smallfolk to explain what was happening.</span></p>
<p class="western">With the wind pushing south east, the fleet made to pass in-between the Fingers and an island called the Paps. The goal was to keep as close to land as they could. Winter storms were horrendous out on the open sea – far from the coast – and the last thing they needed was to risk loosing ships to heavy winds and tall waves. That didn't stop the rain getting heavier as the journey went on.</p>
<p class="western">As they travelled down the eastern coast of the Vale, their progress slowed. The wind was more east than it was south. The oarsmen worked their strong arms to push the ship forward, making up for the speed that the wind could not provide. Davos'<span> daily routine became waking up, eating a bowl of extremely thin porridge to break his fast, being showered by the cold winter rain and sharing sailing stories with Lord Manderly &amp; a hand full of his officers over sour wine. They even got some light snow one day when they were travelling particularly close to land, the hilly coast of the Vale peaking just over the horizon.</span></p>
<p class="western">As they were passing the bay which Runestone and Old Anchor sat on the coast of, <em>The Merman</em><span>'s</span> captain suggested making for Gulltown to stop off a few ships there before going the rest of the way to Dragonstone. Davos had the final say after much discussion amoungst the officers. They would head straight for Dragonstone, not stopping for anything. “The White Walkers could make their move at any moment,” he reasoned with them. “We need to get dragonglass back to Winterfell as quickly as we physically can.” The reasoning was accepted and no more arguments were had.</p>
<p class="western">It would turn out stopping at Gulltown would have been unnecessary. Maester Wolkan or someone else must of sent a raven informing Gulltown of the voyage to Dragonstone. As the northern fleet pasted the Bay of Crabs, they were met by ten galleys departed from the Vale's port city. Their sails bore a yellow tower, burning on a black pile, against a red field. The man in charge of the fleet came aboard <em>The Merman</em> to speak with Davos and Lord Manderly.</p>
<p class="western">Lord Gerold Grafton was a wide man with thick arms and shoulders, his head covered in a mop of dirty blonde hair. He accpeted the sour wine which was all they had to drink beside water. He spoke in a booming voice and a courteous tone. “I apologise for coming upon your fleet so unexpectedly, My Lords,” Lord Grafton began, “but once I got word from Lord Baelish that you were to be making your way to Dragonstone, I could not let myself sit ideally by, knowing it was possible you were unaware of what you were sailing toward.”</p>
<p class="western">“Please enlighten us,” Davos told the Lord Grafton, pouring himself a cup of wine.</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy has entered an alliance with Cersei Lannister and is currently in the process of building more ships,” Grafton informed before sipping some wine. “Dragonstone remains unoccupied by anyone accept its smallfolk, but that is mainly due to the Lannisters having lacked the naval power to travel to the island since the Battle of the Blackwater. It is entirely possible that the moment Cersei hears of your landing upon the island, she will send Greyjoy with as many ships as he currently has to pluck it from your hands.”</p>
<p class="western">“As much as that may be a risk, we need the island,” Lord Manderly told their guest.</p>
<p class="western">Davos gave two soft nods before explaining, “Dragonstone has dragonglass buried in its caverns. King Jon has ordered us to mine it and send it back north to be made into weapons that we'll use against the White Walkers and their army of the dead.”</p>
<p class="western">Grafton shrugged. “Far be it from me to question the order of my King and his Lord Hand,” he said. “I had no intention of stopping you on your voyage, anyway. You've come all the way from White Harbour so I did not wish to make all that travel fruitless. None the less I will warn you again that Euron Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet is a credible fleet.” Grafton finished his wine with a series of swallows. “I will be on my way back to Gulltown. I promise to send as many ships and men that I can spare to help in the effort of mining this dragonglass. The last thing I want is to live in the frozen hell that these White Walkers will create.”</p>
<p class="western">“So believe they exist?”</p>
<p class="western">Grafton gave a brief chuckle. “<em>Trust </em>is the word I would use. I <em>trust</em> they exist because King Jon is putting all the effort he can into preparing to fight them. I seriously doubt a man would put so much passion into a course should that course be based on a falsehood. Besides, I have never been beyond the Wall. King Jon has. I am in no positon to be making claims against him when I myself haven't the necessary information to make such claims.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you, Lord Grafton,” Davos said sincerely.</p>
<p class="western">“You're welcome, Lord Davos. I promise the ships will be at Dragonstone as quickly as I can get them there. For now, five of the galleys I've brought with me will accompany you the rest of the way to Dragonstone.” <span>So Lord Grafton returned to his own ship and was off again, pushed north to Gulltown by the many oars lining the sides of the galley he rode. Five galleys remained with the northern fleet, as Lord Grafton had said they would, flittering in amongst the near a hundred ships that had travelled all the way from White Harbour. </span></p>
<p class="western">With the new ships joining them, they were on the final stretch. The rain kept falling on them as they sailed past Crackclaw Point and Claw Isle on its eastern side. As they turned south west, entering Blackwater Bay, the Gods were kind and the wind changed from pushing south east to just south. The oarsmen were thankful as it meant they did not need to be doing all the work for the rest of the voyage.</p>
<p class="western">Two and a half weeks after setting out from White Harbour, Dragonstone peaked over the horizon, gradually revealing itself to the approaching ships. All the while, Davos stood upon the forecastle, eyes locked on the volcanic island as more of it appeared on the edge of the ocean. Lord Manderly stood beside him. As the oarsmen &amp; wind worked together to push <em>The Merman </em>forward, Davos felt a strange feeling of homecoming, seeing Dragonstone after so long. It had been his home since Robert had given the fortress to Stannis. <em>And it will be my home again, now that Jon has ordered me to be its lord.</em></p>
<p class="western">On the deck behind him, men were scrambling about, preparing to make port on the western side of the island after Davos, Lord Manderly and ten soldiers set off in a large row boat to land on the eastern beach. All the warships in the fleet would not be making port until their positon on Dragonstone was firmly established. Instead they were going to make anchor a league or two west of the island in case King's Landing had heard of their travel and sent Euron Greyjoy out to attack them. The last thing they wanted would be for their efforts to be thwarted before they started mining.</p>
<p class="western">Twelve men clambered into a row boat, eleven who were of average build and the last of them absurdly fat. The soldiers carried longsword and axe – there was no space for spears – while clad in mail &amp; boiled leather. Every second man had an oar, which included both the lords aboard. Gradually they pushed themselves toward the beach of golden white sand while <em>The Merman</em> set off to make port on the eastern side of the island. The sky was overcast, but neglected to rain; for that Davos was thankful. Great, towering cliffs lined the beach: sharp, volcanic rock coloured black that made for an imposing image. The fortress the island was named for did not look out of place amoung them.</p>
<p class="western">Dragonstone sat nestled next to Dragonmont, the still active volcano that had made the island, pale grey steam rising from the vents at the top. The smell of sulfur &amp; brimstone grew thicker as they closed the distance between them and the island. The fortress itself had not changed in the time Davos had been away from it. A main triangular tower jutted up from the centre, surrounded on all sides by thick walls made of grey stone that had all come for the surrounding cliffs and jagged rocks. <em>It once was Stannis', now it's mine.</em> Davos smiled, as much as he could while moving his body forward then backward as he rowed.</p>
<p class="western">The closer they got to the beach, the easier it was to see the family of four who stood &amp; stared at them as they approached. They were a father, a mother &amp; two young sons, one of which was taller than the other, who'd been playing together on the sand &amp; in the water. They beached the boat and the family still did not move off. Davos, Manderly and the soldiers were quick to leave the boat and pull it onto the drier sand, further away from the water. With that done, the new Lord of Dragonstone approached his smallfolk to talk.</p>
<p class="western">“Greetings,” he said.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Davos?” the man managed. Davos did not recongnise the man, whoes younger son had climbed into his arms.</p>
<p class="western">“Aye, it is.”</p>
<p class="western">“Where is King Stannis?”</p>
<p class="western">“Dead. He was defeated. Would you please take me to the main village to see the Keeper of the Keys.”</p>
<p class="western">The man managed a weak nod, then handed his son to his wife. “We had lost all hope of seeing you again, you were gone so long,” the man said as he began leading Davos, Manderly and the soldiers up the beach, feet pressing into the soft sand. The mother and sons remained where they were.</p>
<p class="western">“What's your name?”</p>
<p class="western">“Garse.”</p>
<p class="western">“This is Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour. He and I have been sent to Dragonstone by the King in the North to mine the dragonglass in the caves close to the fortress.”</p>
<p class="western">“Robb Stark? I thought Stannis was fighting against him.”</p>
<p class="western">“No, his brother, Jon Stark, previously Snow. After Stannis was defeated by the Boltons, Jon led a campaign against them and retook Winterfell for House Stark. He was crowned King in the North for it and I entered his service.”</p>
<p class="western">Garse remained quiet after that, leading the way along the stone paths of Dragonstone. A series of villages populated the island, the largest of which was the one sitting closest to the fortress. It was thankfully not that long a walk from the beach to the village, a quaint little thing that was built of houses made from unmortared stone with timber rooves. Smoke rose from many a chimney. The Keeper of the Keys lived in a house just like all the others, the only difference being that it sat on its own, a small distance from the rest, on the road leading to the fortress. Davos delivered three quick knocks to the wood of the door. A man of middle age and greying, brown hair answered, standing as high as his door frame.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Davos,” he said, shocked.</p>
<p class="western">“Syril.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why are you here? Did Stannis finish his buisness up north?”</p>
<p class="western">“No. He was defeated. But I'll explain it all later. If you wouldn't mind, we need to get into the fortress.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why of course, My Lord, of course.” The man Syril disappeared back inside his house to retrieve the keys he was the keeper of. In that time, Davos told Garse he could go back to see his family. Syril left through his door only to close it behind him, now wearing a cloak over his roughspun clothes.</p>
<p class="western">The thirteen men trudged their way up the road to the main gates of Dragonstone: two towering, black steel doors engraved with symbols of dragons and Targaryen imagery supported on either side by great stone dragon heads that still intimidated Davos despite having seen them frequently while spending time on the island with Stannis. Above the gate were battlements that were populated by merlons, arrow slits and machicolations. On either side of the approaching road were two tall, stone hills that forced an attacking army into a bottleneck.</p>
<p class="western">Syril took out a ring of large iron keys and climbed the steps to the black steel gates. Inserting the largest of them into a keyhole on the right gate, he turned the key. From inside the steel gate, a series of mechanical sounds began virbrating as the locking mechanism began to pull the locking bars from the left gate. Once the virbations ceased, Syril stepped down from the gates. Two soldiers moved to each door, pushing them open. The steel made an almighty noise as it dragged against the stone floor. Behind the gates was the fortress' main bailey. All thirteen men stepped inside.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Walking in a straight line from the gate brought them to the fortress' main entrance: two great oak doors decoracted in imagery wrought in steel which was similar to the imagery on the main gate. They were unlocked with a smaller iron key and the locking mechanism took less time to move the locking bars than the previous one. Each door required only one soldier to push it open, making less noise as the wood dragged against stone.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">The company of men stepped into the entrance hall. Stone pillars supported the roof; hanging from them were great fabric banners bearing the crowned stag of Baratheon inside the burning heart of R'hllor. As Davos got the keys off Syril, telling him to return home, Lord Manderly chuckled gleefully, admiring the excellent arcitecture. “Truly a fortress of kings,” he stated confidently. “We'll have to replace these banners with the direwolf of Stark, your onion and the merman of Manderly.” He pulled down one of the banners. It tumbled to the floor, the wooden pole the top it was wrapped around clattering against the stone.</p>
<p class="western">Davos led them through the corridors and halls of the Targaryen fortress, all the way to the throne room. It was a great chamber sitting next to the triangular tower at the centre of the fortress. Three tall windows lined each side of the hall, letting in grey sunlight. Any torches hanging in the iron sconces on the walls were long dead. The soldiers began pulling down more banners as Davos &amp; Lord Manderly walked up to the great throne at the end of the chamber. It was carved from the same volcanic rock that the fortress was made from.</p>
<p class="western">“It's yours to sit in, Lord Davos,” Manderly said.</p>
<p class="western">“It is,” Davos replied, before ascending the shallow staircase leading to the throne. He turned around to look back at the entrance of the chamber. He sat, grimaced and looked to Lord Manderly. “Needs a cushion.” Manderly let out a bellowing laugh that filled the entire room.</p>
<p class="western">Before long, those from the fleet began to arrive at the fortress. They brought banners &amp; furniture, food &amp; other supplies. The stewards who'd come with them had brought several cages of ravens. The first thing that Davos had them send was a message to Winterfell. They wrote his words: <em>Arrived on Dragonstone after two and a half weeks travel. Mining should begin swiftly. Will send updates on when it has begun and how long it should be before a shipment is sent off. Lord Grafton of Gulltown met us mid-voyage. Ships from Gulltown to arrive on Dragonstone and lend help. Euron Greyjoy has joined Cersei Lannister, poses threat to our operation, will send raven should he attack.</em> He signed the scroll himself: <em>Ser</em> <em>Davos Seaworth, Lord of Dragonstone &amp; Hand of the King in the North.</em> The stewards had made him some wax presses. He chose black for the colour of his sealing wax, pressing into it the onion of Seaworth.</p>
<p class="western">The caves storing the dragonglass were found in the base of the volcano before nightfall. Mining began the next day. At the same time Dragonstone became a northern fortress. The direwolf of Stark hung proudly within its stone halls, as did the black ship with a white onion on its sail that was Davos' sigil and the merman of Manderly. Davos moved in-between the mines and fortress throughout the day. Luckily, the entrance to the mines wasn't too far away, the road leading to them broke off from the road connecting Dragonstone and largest the village.</p>
<p class="western">The dragonglass was transported across the island to the docks on the eastern side. The smallfolk put up no fuss about the new presense on the island, so long as it did not become a bother. Days became a routine. Dinners were thin stew with sour wine and yellow ale. Davos ate with Manderly and his top men, laughing at each other's stories. Days were spent waking and making his way to the mines to inspect them, hearing reports from the foremen in charge. Slowly but surely, the mining gained speed. Davos smiled knowing, at the very least, one shipment of dragonglass would make it north. <em>And it will make all the difference when the White Walkers finally attack.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Young Huntsman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Tarly force arrives at Cider Hall.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>The Young Huntsman</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Cider Hall was a modest castle. It's towers &amp; walls were a similar heigth as most others, the moat's width &amp; depth the same. Luckily, it was large enough to accomdiate for the thousand men Lord Randyll Tarly had brought with him from Horn Hill. His son Dickon was amoung them. The two Tarlys rode at the head of their company of landed knights &amp; petty lords over the draw bridge, under the portcullis and into the main bailey of the castle. It was the seat of the Red Apple Fossoways, who were amoung the houses in the Reach who'd remained loyal to the Iron Throne instead of sending men with Olenna Tyrell to Dorne, where she was meeting Daenerys Targaryen.</p>
<p class="western">Of course, the lords who remained loyal to the Iron Throne only did so grudingly. His father was amoung them, Dickon knew. Cersei Lannister was not a queen anyone in the Reach liked much, given the fact that she had caused the death of Mace, Margery &amp; Loras Tyrell... At least that was everyone had deduced by themselves. No one could actually prove that Cersei was behind the destroying of the Great Sept. Those that remained loyal to her were afraid that the Queen on the Iron Throne would do something similar to them were they to choose the Dragon Queen.</p>
<p class="western">The day the raven ordering Lord Randyll to take Highgarden arrived, Dickon had broken his fast while staring at the empty mantle piece. Samwell had disappeared the night following Father's chastisement, taking Heartsbane with him. The following morning Father had been furious, talking of riding out after Sam until Dickon &amp; his mother joined forces to convince him otherwise, reminding him that Sam had spoken of how valyrian steel could kill the dead men he claimed to have encountered during his time beyond the Wall. Lord Randyll promised that should he ever see his firstborn son again, it would be the last time he saw him outside of a dungeon cell and sent out a group of his men to follow him to Oldtown. On that account, Dickon &amp; his mother could not sway the Lord of Horn Hill. Dickon had sent a raven to the citadel of Oldtown addressed to his older brother to warn him of such. <em>I pray he got there before the raven did.</em></p>
<p class="western">After breaking her own fast, his sister Talla had gone outside in a thick winter dress to enjoy the snow. So had Mother. The pair of the them had built a snow man, albeit a small one, considering the sky hadn't been very liberal with the snow it dropped. Unarmoured and wearing his green woolen tunic, he'd joined the pair of them before he'd gone to Ser Eustace for his daily training. Dickon did his best to enjoy himself as much as Talla and Mother had, but it had been difficult to shake the knowledge that snow so early in winter meant it would be a difficult one. <em>That's what the maesters have been saying for the last few years.</em></p>
<p class="western">Dickon had been practicing swordplay with the Master-at-arms when Father came to him with the raven scroll. The day was bright and the air cold. It was a challege to keep his feet from slipping as Ser Eustace came at him with blunt steel. The young Tarly defended appropriately, only the old knight was able to wind around Dickon's blade to deliver a thrust into the centre of his breastplate. As they withdrew their blades, Father decided to interrupt.</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Eustace, might I speak with my son alone?” Lord Randyll asked, though it was spoken like an order.</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, My Lord,” Ser Eustace replied, taking the blunt sword from Dickon. “Remember to keep moving while your sword is in the bind, staying still may lead to your defeat.” Dickon nodded his acknowledgement and the old knight walked off. Lord Randyll looked as he always did when in his household, dressed neatly in a velvet tunic embroidered with the huntsman that was his family sigil. His balding head looked bright pink thanks to the chilled air and his was face was a sharp, stern piece of stone. Promptly he approached his son, handing over the raven scroll. It read:</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Lord Randyll,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>You are hereby ordered by the crown to make for the Roseroad via Cider Hall with all your bannermen entow. You shall meet a force of Lannister men a week after they leave Bitterbridge and proceed with them to Highgarden where you will lead the effort to take the castle in the name of the Iron Thron and Queen Cersei. The Lannister force you will be meeting is set to leave the captial in just under a week's time and will be commanded by Ser Addam Marbrand. Once the castle is taken you will return to King's Landing with every piece of gold and food that you find in its vaults.</em>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Ser Jaime Lannnister,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Commander of Her Grace's armies</em>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">“Do you know what this letter means?” Lord Randyll asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Queen Cersei is making moves to establish her rule,” Dickon replied plainly. “Why have you shown me this father?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because I think it's time you saw proper combat and not just clashing blunt steel with our Master-at-arms.” That took Dickon off guard. <em>I've have only just become a man. </em>“Don't give me that look, you're the same age Robb Stark was when he began his war against the Iron Throne. When we and our bannermen march upon Highgarden alongside the men Ser Jaime is sending to help us, you will be by my side, learning how to properly handle a military affair.”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon read the scroll a second and a third time before returning it to Father's palm. “When do we set out?”</p>
<p class="western">“It's at least a week from here to Cider Hall with the snow slowing us,” Lord Randyll replied, “and just under another to reach the Roseroad one week outside of Bitterbridge. If the men Ser Jaime send us are in any way competent, they will send a raven to Cider Hall once they reach Bitterbridge to tell us they are there and when they will set out. We must be posted in Cider Hall to recieve that raven when it comes.”</p>
<p class="western">“So as soon as we are able.”</p>
<p class="western">Father nodded. “As soon as we are able.” Lord Randyll placed an uncommon soft hand one his son's shoulder. “As much as I would rather it not be Queen Cersei who allows it, this is where the future starts for our house, Dickon. Should we perform well in this task, I expect there will be honours as reward.”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon nodded. “I understand father.”</p>
<p class="western">The suggestion of a smile appeared on Lord Randyll's lips. “Good.”</p>
<p class="western">After that, Dickon had returned to his bedchamber and removed his own armour. He'd been doing it since he'd first worn plate and planned to do it until he no long needed to wear armour. His bedchamber was on the southern side of Horn Hill with two large window's that let in plenty of light. The walls were painted dark green and autumn red, reminding him of the dense woods that surrounded his family home. Often Dickon went riding in those woods for pleasure or to hunt with Father for deer. But winter was here. The ground was like to be mud more than not and the cold air did not agree with him. His cheeks were quick to turn pink and fingers short to become numb should he not be wearing gloves.</p>
<p class="western">Over the next few days, Horn Hill's nearest banners had made for the castle. Lord Randyll made sure Dickon was present when they were greeted. It'd seemed a bit tedious, were Dickon to be frank, greeting so many different men. He knew all their names and how many days ride their keeps &amp; holdfasts were from Horn Hill because all of them made frequent enough visits to the seat of House Tarly. By a week after Ser Jaime's raven arrived, five hundred men were camping without the walls of Horn Hill.</p>
<p class="western">It was a week of feasts with petty lords and landed knights. Of course, it being winter meant that those feasts were more accurately described as rationed meals. Wine was weak &amp; watery for the most part and plenty of the talk amoung those who sat at the dinning hall tables centred on the trouble that winter would present to keeping their smallfolk fed and cared for. It wasn't uncommon to hear complaints from the Tarly bannermen about being sent off to take a castle while they would rather remain in their holdfasts and keeps to ensure that all was well for them &amp; their people. Dickon couldn't help but worry that that sort of talk could be considered treasonous: if Father felt the same, he was not showing it, instead putting the comments to rest by saying, “I would rather remain at Horn Hill and see to my lordly duties, but the Queen has ordered us to take Highgarden so we will take Highgarden.” They'd set out from Horn Hill once their numbers had swollen to a thousand men and those thousand men were now setting up camp outside Cider Hall.</p>
<p class="western">The man who met Dickon &amp; his father after they dismounted – their armour rattling – was Ser Tanton Fossoway, dressed in a yellow quilted tunic, a red apple embroidered on the breast, as well as thick breeches with a arming sword on his hip. He was tall, comely and well built. “Lord Randyll,” he greeted them. “Welcome to Cider Hall.”</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Tanton,” Father replied. “This is my son Dickon.”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon gave small bow and said, “Ser.” Tanton replied with a nod.</p>
<p class="western">“It was good of you to send a raven ahead, it meant we were able to call our own banners to join you in the siege,” Tanton explained.</p>
<p class="western">“I saw,” Lord Randyll said. As they had seen the campsite two miles out from Cider Hall. The castle sat amoung some shallow hills that had been covered by tents &amp; carriage, horse holds &amp; cookfires. The grey smoke had been difficult to see against the clouds of the same colour and the soft, white snow falling from them. Aside from the petty lords and landed knights who were the Tarly banners, the host they'd brought from Horn Hill began to increase the size of the campsite made by the banners of the Red Apple Fossoways.</p>
<p class="western">“Sutiable chambers have been arranged for you and your bannermen. You and your son have been placed next to each other.” Lord Randyll gave a curt nod in response.</p>
<p class="western">For the rest of the day, Dickon remained with his father as he spoke with his men about the organising of their forces. It was good learning for when Dickon himself would have to organise the forces on his own when he was Lord of Hill Horn himself. Father even got him to offer input on how the men should be organised and he suggested keeping them separated from the Fossoway men so it would be easier to filter the men into different ranks when it came to moving off from Cider Hall. It would also help to prevent the mingling of separtate food stores: they'd brought their own food and supplies for the express purpose of not eating into someone else's winter stores.</p>
<p class="western">At supper, they were hosted in the main hall. Dickon and his father were given places of honour on the high table, to the right of Lord Fossoway: a tall, portly man of similar age to Lord Randyll, with a thick beard that was on its way to becoming grey. The Tarly bannermen mingled together with Fossoway's on the lower tables. The hall was smokey from the several lit hearths, noisey with the sound of conversation and filled with the rich smells of the food they were eating. Lord Fossoway was even willing to serve some stronger wine to his guests, drinking watered wine himself. The meal remained rationed – however – and Dickon did not mind in the slighest. <em>Better to eat less each day and eat for longer than to run out of food sooner.</em></p>
<p class="western"><span>Lord Fossoway burped, covering his mouth, then asked Father, “</span>Have you noticed that the red comet's returned?”</p>
<p class="western">“I have,” Lord Randyll replied. It had been a queer thing to see, Dickon had admitted to himself the first time he saw it. He'd not expected it to return after it disappeared toward the beginning of autumn. It's red light had bled through the clouds all the way from Horn Hill.</p>
<p class="western">“I think it's a sign from the Old Gods,” Fossoway admitted.</p>
<p class="western">“Why? The Old Gods have no power in the South.” Father sounded as if his host were speaking nonsense. Lord Randyll kept the Seven but had never been a particularly godly man.</p>
<p class="western">“It's a similar colour to the leaves of those trees northmen worship and it first appeared when King Joffrey took off Ned Stark's head. Now it appears soon after winter begins and snow falls sooner than it ever has in living memory.”</p>
<p class="western">“So you think that the Old Gods are punishing the South for Ned Stark's beheading?”</p>
<p class="western">“One wouldn't be mad for thinking such a thing. Stark's bastard is now King in the North and has taken his father's family name. Rumours have creeped south that this bastard died only to come back to life. A man less sane than me might even think that the Old Gods gave that boy powers to punish the South for their crimes against the North.”</p>
<p class="western">“Jon Snow was part of the Night's Watch. He's an oathbreaker to have taken the northern crown. My first son considers Jon Snow a good man, but then again, anyone who doesn't call him fat is a good man in Samwell's eyes.”</p>
<p class="western">“Father, surely you can give Sam's word some credence,” Dickon felt need to put in. “Jon Snow took Winterfell. He's escentically the head of House Stark and all that's left of it besides his half-sister Sansa. Surely there must be some sense in him.”</p>
<p class="western">“At least some, I'll admit. That castle is as hard as the northmen House Stark rules over and it would take a proper northman to breach it.”</p>
<p class="western">“There's more than just Jon Snow and Sansa Stark to their house,” Fossoway said. “Arya Stark has appeared in the Riverlands and slaughered a gathering of Freys. That is why Jaime Lannister is making his way north, to find the little she-wolf.”</p>
<p class="western">“How old would she be now?”</p>
<p class="western">“Probably around fifthteen,” Fossoway replied.</p>
<p class="western">“Fifthteen!” Dickon exclaimed. “By the Gods, how could a girl so young do such a thing?”</p>
<p class="western">“Disguised herself as a serving wench and slipped poision into the cookpots, least that's what the new Lord of the Crossing has been saying she did.”</p>
<p class="western">“I pray Ser Jaime finds her,” Lord Randyll said, sipping his wine. “Someone like that is too dangerous to be left alive.”</p>
<p class="western">Two days pasted after their arrival at Cider Hall before a raven came from Bitterbridge. Addam Marbrand had written it: <em>At Bitterbridge. Snow came down heavy during the last two days of riding. We should be off after four days rest. We'll meet you on the Roseroad.</em> Lord Randyll penned a reply saying that the raven was recieved and understood. Dickon found himself almost giddy at the thought of riding out of Cider Hall with the next stop being Highgarden and his first experience of proper combat. When they eventually did leave, Dickon rode at the head of the column besides his father as well as Ser Tanton, who Lord Fossoway had sent to lead the Fossoway banners.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Tyrion I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daenerys Stormborn lands in Dorne.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry guys. I've fucked up. I've been using ampersands (this symbol: '&amp;') instead of 'and' at various points in this story to prevent myself from repeptively using the word 'and.' There aren't any words in all the tounges of men that can express how sorry I am.</p><p>This is sarcastic, by the way. If anyone's curious as to why I'm wrting this, someone commented on the first Samwell chapter that they were going to stop reading because I use ampersands. I can't think of something so small to stop reading over. Anyway, first Tyrion chapter. Dany's finally showing up. This rewrite is gonna be like Clash &amp; Storm where she appears in fewer chapters than everyone else, but those chapters are very important for the plot for Dany on her own and the rest of the story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Tyrion</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The last thing that Tyrion had expected to encounter in Dorne was snow. But there it was, softly floating down from a sky covered by light grey clouds that the red light of a comet bleed through. The snow had only started to fall as they came within a league of port, yet still it had managed to coat the deck in a blanket half an inch thick by the time they pulled up alongside one of the many wooden piers jutting out of the Sunspear coastline. On the main deck, sailors took brooms in hand to sweep the blanket to under the rails and into the water. They'd almost never come to Dorne. Originally, Daenerys had it set in her mind to make for Dragonstone. Tyrion remembered the day that had been changed.</p><p class="western">Tyrion's stomach had been bad the entire voyage, bringing up the his lunch more days than not. On that particular day, Varys had sat across from Tyrion with his arms hidden in his sleeve and a blank face. Tyrion looked up at his eunuch friend as the last remnants of vomit dripped from his beard. “Stop looking at me like that,” Tyrion told him, groggy.</p><p class="western">“Looking at you how?” Varys asked. “I'm merely observing a dwarf losing his lunch.”</p><p class="western">“I think you and I can both agree you're looking at me with disapproval.”</p><p class="western">“Really? I thought my face was completely neutral.”</p><p class="western">“It wasn't your face, it was your eyes.”</p><p class="western">“Tell me, how does one trust another's eyes to relibly inform of a state of mind if the rest of the face is completely neutral.”</p><p class="western">“You've always disapproved of my vomiting.”</p><p class="western">“Not at all. Unfortunately not everyone has a stomach for sailing. I too had that problem for a time.”</p><p class="western">“But you don't anymore.”</p><p class="western">“Evidently not. I also wonder why you are vomiting now when didn't on your way to Pentos.”</p><p class="western">“I was in a crate where I could not judge the motion of the boat.”</p><p class="western">“And you hadn't been drinking wine.”</p><p class="western">“I'm not going to stop drinking wine.”</p><p class="western">“Then enjoy vomiting.”</p><p class="western">The voyage from Mereen had been miserable. A month of vomiting and suffering the stench of horse manure. He'd been pleased when Varys came upon them when they stopped in Lys the day piror. The eunuch sailed back from Dorne to bring news that Olenna Tyrell &amp; Ellaria Sand had agreed to offer there resources to Daenerys' course to retake her rightful throne. The fleet from Mereen was on the final stetch toward Westeros.</p><p class="western">“When is our Queen going to discuss where to land in Westeros?” Varys asked.</p><p class="western">“She was dead set on Dragonstone, last I asked her. Wants to echo Aegon the Conqueror I'd imagine.”</p><p class="western">“We'd be at the mouth of Blackwater Bay if we land Dragonstone. For all we know Cersei's captured the fortress.”</p><p class="western">“Go tell her that.”</p><p class="western">The eunuch stood and moved toward the cabin door. Tyrion placed his bucket on the floor and waddled after Varys. If Daenerys was going to be convinced to land somewhere other than Dragonstone, she would need her Hand there to advise her. The cabin door opened onto the main deck. The wind filled the black sail bearing the red, three-headed Targaryen dragon. Clouds of white and light grey were scattered or clumped together, decorating the sky. The salty air filled Tyrion's lungs as he followed Varys along the deck. He imagined that he looked like a baby duckling following his mother then banished the thought from his mind after the embarrassment began to creep in. The pair ascended the stairs up to the forecastle. Daenerys stood next to the figure head, wearing a thick, black leather dress that stopped the wind from chilling her. She leaned against the rail, looking off into the distance, loose strands of silver hair dancing on the breeze.</p><p class="western">“My Queen,” Varys said to catch Daenerys' attention. She looked round. “I've come to ask where you plan to land when we reach Westeros.”</p><p class="western">“Dragonstone,” Daenerys anwsered. “It's my family home and I was born there. I can think of no better place to begin my retaking of Westeros.”</p><p class="western">“I appreciate the sentiment, My Queen, but may I suggest a different place to land?”</p><p class="western">“By all means Lord Varys.”</p><p class="western">“Sunspear. It is closer, meaning less time at sea. It is also in Dorne. As you know, before I left to join you here on the sea, Ellaria Sand was preparing the Dornish armies to fight for you and Olenna Tyrell had sent for some of her banners in the Reach to travel south so that when you arrive you could strike out with a much stronger force.”</p><p class="western">“But Dragonstone is my home.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, My Queen. I appreciate you want to return home, but we will have to travel past the Stepstones and two thirds of the Narrow Sea. Not only that, it lies just outside Blackwater Bay. We could get attacked by whatever fleet Cersei has avalible to her. We could arrive to find the fortress occupied and need to take it back.”</p><p class="western">“Then we'll take it back.”</p><p class="western">“Wasting good men and good ships that have guranteed safety if we land in Dorne.”</p><p class="western">“Tell me Lord Varys, why did you serve the Usurper Robert Baratheon?” <em>That's strange</em>, Tyrion thought. <em>Why has she gone to that subject?</em></p><p class="western">“I served him in order to survive Your Grace. I also needed to make sure I could manipulate the lords of Westeros into actions that would be best for the realm.”</p><p class="western">“And when he ordered my assassination, was that for the good of the realm?”</p><p class="western">“I regret to admit it, Your Grace, but it was. You posed the threat of bringing an army to Westeros, led by Khal Drogo, that would see the common people suffer from the conflict. That was before you began to liberate slaves and before Joffrey Baratheon proved to be just as mad as your father.” Tyrion could see that comment ruffled a feather.</p><p class="western">“Was there anyone who spoke against my assasssination?”</p><p class="western">“One person, Your Grace. Lord Eddard Stark.”</p><p class="western">“The man who helped the Usurper steal the throne? The one who's sister Rhaegar raped? What reason would he have to wish that I remained alive?”</p><p class="western">“Honour, my Queen. It was Lord Eddard's strongest quality beside his love for his family. He did not want to let a child be killed.”</p><p class="western">“And you did. Perhaps I should find Lord Eddard's bones and ask him to advise me instead.”</p><p class="western">“I assure you, Your Grace, my loyalty to you is without question. When I heard of your liberating of slaves, I knew you would be a better ruler for the Seven Kingdoms than any of Robert's supposed children. And now Cersei is on the Iron Throne, the realm will suffer for it. The people will suffer for it. When they see you marching to liberate them from a Queen who thinks of them as a dog thinks of the fleas on his back, they will surely rally behind you. So please, land in Sunspear, combine your unsullied &amp; dothraki with the armies of the Reach &amp; Dorne, then travel up to the Boneway to strike out with the largest force you possibly can.”</p><p class="western">Daenerys looked down at Tyrion. “What do you think of this proposal, Lord Tyrion?”</p><p class="western">“Lord Varys is right,” Tyrion told her. “We should land in Sunspear. When I left Westeros Dragonstone had been abandoned and in that time anyone could have taken it. It would be a waste of time and resources to take an island that offers no strategic advance other than being close to King's Landing.”</p><p class="western">Daenerys smiled. “Very well, Lord Varys. I will order our fleet to land in Sunspear.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, my Queen. I promise you this is the correct first move toward retaking the throne for your family.”</p><p class="western">Now'd they arrived in Dorne, with the snow falling on them, Tyrion stood beside Varys on the forecastle. “The Starks were always warning us. Winter has come and Dorne is no different,” Tyrion said. <em>It might not be the correct part of Westeros, but home is home. </em>He smiled as three sets of great leather wings beat against the air, carrying Daenerys' dragons over the top of the boats<em>.</em> Tyrion spied three women on the end of their pier, dressed in many layers of sand-silk. He recalled the events that led to him leaving of Westeros in the first place. “I wonder what harsh words Ellaria Sand will say to me about the death of her lover,” he thought aloud.</p><p class="western">“I would expect they would be particularly harsh,” Varys said. “When I mentioned you during my pitch to her to support Queen Daenerys, she did look particularly angry.”</p><p class="western">The pair heard two sets of footsteps walk up behind them. Looking round revealed them to belong to Daenerys &amp; Missandei. The Dragon Queen wore a thick, woolen dress, coloured the dark blue of a deep ocean; her silver hair was in a braid flowing over her right shoulder. Missandei worn a simple black, woolen cloak. When they had stopped on Lys, Varys had told them them winter had hit Westeros. With that news, appropriate clothes were brought before they set off.</p><p class="western">“It would seem that the desert sands have been replaced with snow,” Daenerys said. “Tell me, how bad do winters get in Westeros?”</p><p class="western">“It varies from winter to winter but talk was that this would be the coldest one in a long time,” Tyrion replied.</p><p class="western">Their ship had been the first to dock. The deck bustled with sailors preparing to move everything off of the boat. The Queen, her Hand, Missandei and Varys moved down the gangplank, onto the wooden pier. They followed it all the way to sandstone platform lining the edge of the water and were greeted by a company of twenty dornish soldiers as well as the three young women Tyrion had spied from the ship. All in the company wore sand silk, yellow &amp; orange cloaks, boiled leather and mail. Going from left to right, the three young women were armed with a spear, a whip and knives; their hair styled in a low bun, a single braid and flowing freely to the bottom of the neck; all the colour black, fitting well with the olive colour of their skin.</p><p class="western">“Welcome to Dorne, Your Grace,” the one with the low bun greeted.</p><p class="western">Varys took a step forward. Standing in-between the two groups, he introduced the three young women. “Your grace, may I introduced to you Obara Sand,” he began, gesturing to the woman with the low bun, “Nymeria Sand and Tyene Sand.” He pointed to the other two sequentially. “The Sand Snakes. Bastard daughters of Oberyn Martell.”</p><p class="western">All three of them laid their eyes on Tyrion. He replied immediately. “If am to be scolded for the recklessness of your father, I will receive it from Ellaria. I'm not in the mood to argue with three people at once. Take us to the palace before we freeze.”</p><p class="western">The three of them sneered at Tyrion before Nymeria looked to Daenerys. “Please follow us,” the sand snake said.</p><p class="western">The company of soldiers parted to allow the Sand Snakes, Daenerys, Tyrion, Varys and Missandei through before following behind with some unsullied &amp; dothraki behind them. As they walked the streets of Sunspear, it became very clear to Tyrion that the city wasn't properly equipped to deal with snow: it was prevented from entering windows by makeshift shutters. He suspected that the occupants of these buildings had taken to lighting as many candles as they could. With no way to vent smoke, it'd be unwise for a braizer to be lit in doors, so in the communial areas they passed, families huddled round fires while wrapped in the thickest clothes &amp; blankets they owned. A great deal of sympathy grew in Tyrion. <em>Most of them have probably never seen snow and now they're having to quickly adapt to it.</em></p><p class="western">Reaching the palace, it was one of the grandest buildings he'd ever seen. An impressive mixture of sandstone and marble, decorated with tile patterns on each of the walls &amp; floors. It also proved to be just as ill equipped to deal with the current weather. The Sand Snakes ordered the company of soldiers to escort the unsullied &amp; dothraki to the city barracks. From there, Tyrion, Daenerys, Missandei &amp; Varys were escorted to a chamber where Ellaria Sand sat amoung many pillows on a long couch partnered with two others of the same length in a horseshoe layout around a large table. She wore a thick dress of many a shade of yellow &amp; orange.</p><p class="western">“Welcome to Dorne, Your Grace,” Ellaria said as Daenerys passed underneath the arch of the chamber entrance. The Sand Snakes joined Ellaria, Obara placing her spear on the floor in front of the couch. “Please sit and drink. And apologies for the cold. We in Dorne are not used to snow.” On one of the couches was also Olenna Tyrell.</p><p class="western">As Tyrion sat on the opposite couch to the Tyrell matriarch, he commented, “A Tyrell in Dorne. Now that must mean the world is certainly ending.”</p><p class="western">“Japes are not welcome here, Lord Tyrion,” Olenna replied as Varys joined her on the couch. Daenerys and Missandei joined Tyrion.</p><p class="western">“The last time I remember seeing you,” Tyrion began as he poured himself and Daenerys a cup of wine, “my nephew was dying at his wedding.”</p><p class="western">“And then you fled the punishment you were sentenced to.”</p><p class="western">“My brother and Lord Varys did not wish to see me dead for a crime I did not commit.”</p><p class="western">“We can discuss our pasts later,” Daenerys interrupted. “The matter at hand is removing who sits on the Iron Throne and reclaiming it for its rightful owner.”</p><p class="western">“Indeed,” Tyrion agreed. “But I think we should wait until Yara &amp; Theon Greyjoy arrive. The last thing we want to do is plan our attack on King's Landing without our naval commanders present to lend there feedback.”</p><p class="western">“I agree,” Varys said.</p><p class="western">“Then let us talk about what to do with you, Lord Tyrion,” Ellaria suggested.</p><p class="western">“By all means,” Tyrion replied eager to here whatever threats she had for him.</p><p class="western">“Oberyn died because of you,” Ellaria stated with venom in her voice.</p><p class="western">“It was not my fault he did not deliver a killing blow.”</p><p class="western">“I should have your head to repay for his death.”</p><p class="western">Calmly Tyrion replied, “I am the hand of the Queen. By theatrening me, you have theatrened the Queen. Hold your tounge snake or I will have it cut out.”</p><p class="western">“Lord Tyrion!” Daenerys uttered with disgust. “I will not have you making threats to those who have allowed us into their home.”</p><p class="western">“She threatened my life. I merely threatened to remove her tounge. Last I checked, your Grace, it was much more harsh to take a life than one's ability to speak and taste food.”</p><p class="western">“None the less, you just threatened your host.”</p><p class="western">“Your Grace, while I admit it is not curtious to threaten one's host, my host had already threaten me. I simply balanced the scales.” Tyrion placed his glass on the table and clapped once. “Now, it's been over a year since last I was in Westeros. I would quite like to know what state I've returned to find it in.”</p><p class="western">Olenna was the one to answer: “Cersei sits the Iron Throne having destroyed the Great Sept of Baelor and the suicide of your nephew Tommen.” Tyrion felt tears prick his eyes, but didn't interrupt. “Destroying the Sept killed my son and grandchildren as well as your uncle, Ser Kevan. King's Landing is plagued by daily riots and the only kingdoms whoes loyalty to the Iron Throne is certain are the Westerlands &amp; Riverlands. Walder Frey was recently murdered, along with most of House Frey after Arya Stark poisioned them.”</p><p class="western">“Arya Stark's alive!”</p><p class="western">“That's what the new Lord of the Crossing is saying. Your brother Jaime is leading an army to the Riverlands to hunt her down. In the North, Winterfell as been taken from the Boltons by an alliance between northern houses and the Kinghts of the Vale. Lord Eddard's bastard has been named King in the North.”</p><p class="western">“Jon? He's a man of the Night's Watch. He can't wear a crown.”</p><p class="western">“Not anymore,” Ellaria put in. “Rumours say that he was murdered by his own men and was ressurrected by that red priestess Stannis Baratheon was in bed with. As such, the heads of the northern houses consider him released from his Night's Watch vows.”</p><p class="western">Tyrion squinted, reached for his wine cup and swallowed. “What about Sansa Stark?” he asked, concerned. “Is there any word of her?”</p><p class="western">“She is ruling the North beside her brother as a Princess.”</p><p class="western">“Sansa! Princess!” He laughed a hearty laugh. “And Jon Snow is King in the North. What better way to make my sister seeth!” Tyrion slapped his knee and laughed again, drinking as he did.</p><p class="western">“He is Jon Stark now,” Olenna put in. “Being named King legitimised him.”</p><p class="western">“Who is this Jon Stark?” Daenerys asked.</p><p class="western">“Ned's Stark bastard son,” Tyrion anwsered, “as Lady Olenna said. I befriended him when I ventured to the Wall.”</p><p class="western">“Another usurper originating from the North, how surpsrising,” she said, before sipping her wine. There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.</p><p class="western">“Your Grace,” Olenna said to catch Daenerys' attention. “Lord Tyrion's sister has been ruling terribly since sitting herself on the Iron Thone. She and her son Joffrey are the two people most responsible for the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon Snow's choice to make the North indepedent is a very wise decision on his part.”</p><p class="western">“And what has he done as King in the North?”</p><p class="western">Ellaria answered: “Reports have come south that he has sent ever last ship from White Harbour to take Dragonstone. They are travelling down the eastern coast.”</p><p class="western">“So he plans to steal my ancesteral home,” Daenerys stated. “I believe my first order to Yara &amp; Theon will be to retake it.”</p><p class="western">“That would be unwise Your Grace,” Tyrion advised.</p><p class="western">“And why is that?”</p><p class="western">“I do not believe Jon Snow...” He trailed off. “No, he's a Stark now. Gods, I'm going to need to get used to that.” He sipped his wine. “Anyway, I do not believe Jon Stark would be stupid enough to send his entire fleet to take a single island that is so close to King's Landing without good reason.”</p><p class="western">“So you're suggesting I let him continue to occupy Dragonstone, which by rights should belong to me.”</p><p class="western">“I believe if we treat them well, Jon Stark and his sister could be valuable allies. He may even be a suitable suitor.”</p><p class="western">“Are you planning my marriage already?”</p><p class="western">“Your Grace, the North has been famously isolated from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. The only reason Ned Stark came south is because Robert asked him to be his Hand. If you could win the King in the North as a husband, you would have gained the largest of the Seven Kingdoms as an ally. It is only beneficial to bring Jon Stark into the fold.”</p><p class="western">“And how do you expect him to react when offered a marriage proposal from the daughter of the man his father overthrew?” Olenna asked. “The sister of the man who kidnapped his aunt. The woman who's father burnt his grandfather and strangled his uncle.”</p><p class="western">“I am not my father and I am not my brother,” Daenerys replied. “If this Jon Stark reacts badly to marriage proposal then I think we can arrange an alliance through some other means.”</p><p class="western">At this point Theon &amp; Yara were shown into the chamber, dressed in grey breehces &amp; tunics under chestplates lined with leather on the outside; krakens cut into the lining material. They placed themselves on the same couch as Varys &amp; Olenna. Tyrion noticed Yara giving Ellaria an inviting look with an eager smile: a smile which was reciprocated.</p><p class="western">“Ah,” Tyrion exclaimed. “A full house. Now we can begin discussing our battle plans.”</p><p class="western">“What was being discussed before we got here?” Yara asked, her eyes not leaving Ellaria.</p><p class="western">“Marriage proposals.”</p><p class="western">“For who to whom?”</p><p class="western">“Her Grace and Jon Stark.”</p><p class="western">“Stark? Jon's a Stark now?” Theon said, confused. “He can't marry, he took the black.”</p><p class="western">“It would appear he hung up his black cloak and donned a crown instead. Jon has been named King in the North taken the Stark name because of it.”</p><p class="western">“Sansa got to him?”</p><p class="western">Tyroin grew puzzeled. “Got to him? Were you with her before you came to Mereen?”</p><p class="western">Shame grew on Theon's face before he answered. “After I took Winterfell, Ramsay Bolton kept me as a prisoner. I escaped alongside Sansa who had been married off to him.”</p><p class="western">“Married off. Who married her off?”</p><p class="western">“Petyr Baelish.”</p><p class="western">“That bastard!” Anger filled Tyrion's voice. “Speak the rest of this tale, Greyjoy. I must know what has become of my wife.”</p><p class="western">“You were married to Sansa Stark?” Daenerys interrupted. “Then that means we already have an alliance with the North. Send a raven to her telling her to honour your union and bring the armies of the North south to aid us in taking King's Landing.”</p><p class="western">Tyrion shook his head. “I will not.”</p><p class="western">Her face grew stern. “That was an order Lord Tyrion.”</p><p class="western">“An order I'm refusing to follow. We should demand nothing of the North to allow our first impressions to be as positive as possible. The northerners don't like Targaryen much, as I'm sure you can understand. Besides, my marriage with Sansa wasn't consumated and forced upon us both. In the sight of Gods &amp; men, such a marriage is hollow and was very clearly placed aside.” He turned to Theon. “Continue Greyjoy.”</p><p class="western">“While she was married to Ramsay, he tortured Sansa, even forced me to watch him rape her. When Stannis Baratheon marched on Winterfell, the two of us escaped. We made north to try and reach Jon at the Wall but were come upon by Bolton men. We would have been taken back if not for a lady knight and her squire.”</p><p class="western">“What lady knight? Do you remember her name?” Theon shook his head. Olenna Tyrell rolled her eyes.</p><p class="western">“Lord Tyrion,” Olenna cut in. “We are not here for you to learn what happened to Sansa Stark, do that in your own time. We are here to discuss the march on King's Landing.”</p><p class="western">Tyrion composed himself, taking a sip of his wine. “My apologies. I am still concerned for her safety. She was a tender girl and the last thing I wanted was for her to come to harm. But it would seem Littlefinger saw to that.” Tyrion finished his wine then poured another cup. “Now! To return to battle plans. What forces do we have?”</p><p class="western">“Six thousand dornishmen are ready to move North,” Ellaria answered.</p><p class="western">“And I have ten thousand loyal bannermen waiting in Yronwood,” Olenna followed.</p><p class="western">“Seven thousand unsullied and fifty thousand dothraki riders,” Missandie added.</p><p class="western">“And all of our ships and sailors,” Yara told him.</p><p class="western">“Excellent,” Tyrion exclaimed. “With three dragons added, we have a strong force indeed. We shouldn't need to use them to their full destructive potential if all goes well. Simply by keeping them visable to those manning the walls, we will successfully decrease their moral. We'll travel up the Boneway to Summerhall with all of our foot &amp; horse. From there we'll travel through the Kingswood, preparing seige equipment while encamping. Meanwhile, the Greyjoys begin taking the ports on the north coast of the Sea of Dorne, Cape Wrath and Shipbreaker Bay, gathering more men and more ships as you go. From there make your way north past Massey's Hook and approach King's Landing via Blackwater Bay.”</p><p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy has delcared for Cersei,” Ellaria told him. “News is he's building a thousand ships.”</p><p class="western">“Knowing him he'll betray her at some point,” Yara replied. “If we move quickly, we might come upon him with his smallclothes down, then we'll be able to hammer him hard. If we don't, so long has he hasn't built many of those new ships, we should be able to win by pure numbers. We can take Dragonstone while passing by.”</p><p class="western">“No, no,” Tyrion told him, after sipping his wine. “Northmen hold it and the last thing you want is to antagonise the North when they could be allies.”</p><p class="western">Yara looked to Daenerys. “Is this your order, Your Grace?” Tyrion turned his head and watched Daenerys softly nod. “Very well.”</p><p class="western">“It might be an idea to visit the island under a banner of peace and ask for aid.”</p><p class="western">“That won't happen,” Theon stated with shame. “They still think I burned Bran and Rickon Stark when I took Winterfell. They'll never trust a Greyjoy.”</p><p class="western">Tyrion sighed. “Well that is a shame.” He finished his wine and placed the glass down.</p><p class="western">“We will come to lead the dornishmen,” Obara said. “They trust us and we know them.”</p><p class="western">“And who will lead the Tyrell men?” Tyrion asked Olenna. “I don't imagine you'll be on horseback on the front line.”</p><p class="western">“Igon Vyrwel is the who I have given command of my forces. He waits in Yronwood with the men,” Olenna answered. “He was Captain of the Guard at Highgarden. Meanwhile, I've left the castle with a deliberately small garrison and it worked exactly how I exepected it to.”</p><p class="western">“And how did you expect it to work?”</p><p class="western">“It was bait for Cersei. She's sent a force to lay siege to the castle, most likely thinking that its vaults are full of food and gold she can use to survive winter. Little does she know that the food and gold I had stored was gradually sent to Old Oak, Brightwater Keep and Honeyholt. While Cersei's army wastes their time trying to starve out my garrison &amp; hunting for Arya Stark in the Riverlands, King's Landing is weakened and will be easier to take.”</p><p class="western">“Excellent thinking, My Lady,” Tyrion exclaimed. Olenna smiled.</p><p class="western">“You are most welcome, Lord Tyrion.”</p><p class="western">Tyrion moved on: “The unsullied will be led by Grey Worm and the dothraki will follow any order Her Grace gives them. “</p><p class="western">“Very well,” Daenerys followed. “This seems very simple.”</p><p class="western">“Yes,” Tyrion agreed. “Surprisingly, when you put several smart people in a room together, they produce plans that are competent. But do not confuse simplicity with ease, Your Grace. We have a long journey from here to King's Landing with seventy three thousand men, a large navy and three dragons to take with us. Winter storms and snow will slow us. But, once we reach the city, I believe we will have a fighting chance.”</p><p class="western">And so the council dispanned. Lord Varys and Olenna Tyrell walked off together speaking in low voices. Yara got up and offered a hand to Ellaria which was accepted; the pair of them walked off. The Sand Snakes left through arch they entered, sneering at Tyrion as they passed. Daenerys and Missandie walked off together. Theon sat opposite Tyrion – timid &amp; reserved.</p><p class="western">“Tell me all you can about Sansa,” Tyrion told Theon softly. Greyjoy oblieged: her arrivial at Winterfell, her wedding to Ramsay, the torture &amp; rape and the escape from the caslte. “Thank you Greyjoy.” Tyrion's tone was grateful. “She might not of loved me, but I still wish her some happiness for all Joffrey put her through. Bolton as well, it would seem.” Theon nodded. “Now.” Tyrion stood. “Before I leave Dorne, I must visit one of the brothles. I've never been to a dornish brothle. Will you join me? I remember your admiration for a good whore.”</p><p class="western">“I can't,” Theon replied, chocking on his words. “Ramsay, g-gelded me.”</p><p class="western">Tyrion's expression dropped. He walked over to Theon and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “My apologies. Terrible thing to lose one's cock.” Theon gave a soft nod and Tyrion left him be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next two chapters will be released at the same time because you can't really have one without the other. It'll be a Bran chapter, then a Sansa chapter. I might have to add the BAMF Sansa Stark tag to the story but I'll let you guys be the judge of that when you read them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Bran II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Littlefinger speaks to Bran</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Bran</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The raven's wings beat against the air. It flew high above the ground where the wind was stronger. Cold white flakes were falling from the grey clouds above him. They landed only to cover the frozen water and the dense trees swimming in it, stretching out for as far as the eye could see. His black feathers protected him from most of the cold in the air but did not stop it entirely; he was still quite chilly. All his instincts were telling him to continue flying in the direction which the red light in the sky had been coming from since it appeared, but the humans wanted the thing tied around his leg taken somewhere, so he would.</p>
<p class="western">The raven had been bothered by something since he set off at first light. In the back of his conciousness, there was some sort of strange presence. It clawed at the rest of his mind, telling him when to beat his wings and what direction to fly in. Whenever he would set off from the grey, man-rock nest next to the great woods, he would normally finish his flight by landing at the three tall, narrow nests made of black, man-rock that sat on the great dirt track which the humans travelled up &amp; down on horses. The presense had willed him to go past those nests, continuing further &amp; further. He was helpless to resist. No matter how much he wanted to land at the black, man-rock nests, the presence wouldn't let him. So here he was, flying over lands of frozen water and dense trees. The presense was looking for something, the raven could tell: a man-nest sitting in the waters that no raven could normally find.</p>
<p class="western">The man-nest took an extra half day of flight to find. The sun reached its highest point before the presense felt different and the raven saw the man-nest that it was looking for. It sat on a patch of moss covered land in a large body of water not yet frozen by the cold air. The nest was made of dead trees that men had cut down and reshaped. One narrow spike topped a squat base surrounded by a ring of dead trees that men stood upon, brandishing tall, metal claws and narrow sticks that humans would send flying by bending them agianst curved branches.</p>
<p class="western">The raven chose to set down on a small cleft at the top of the narrow wooden spike. The cleft was covered in snow. He could not enter the spike because there was a see-through barrier that humans used to block entrance into their nests from clefts the like the one he stood on. With his long, black beak, the raven tapped the barrier. A man was inside the nest, sitting on &amp; at other reshaped trees. Clearly the raven's tapping got the man's attention, because he stood to walk toward the barrirer and move it out of the way. The raven took wing and landed on the dead tree the man had been sitting at. The man was short, with grey fur atop his head.</p>
<p class="western">“<em>Bran</em><span>,” the raven was compelled to quork. “</span><em>Bran, Bran, Bran.</em><span>” The man walked over to the raven and picked him up gently, removing the thing around his leg. The man flicked his eyes over it after putting the raven down.</span></p>
<p class="western">“Meera's alive!” the man uttered softly.</p>
<p class="western">“<em>Bran, Bran</em><span>,” the raven quorked again, “</span><em>Bran, Bran, Bran......</em><span>”</span></p>
<p class="western">“Bran,” Meera said softly, shaking his shoulder slightly. Bran looked at her.</p>
<p class="western">“The raven's gotten to your father,” Bran told her. “Most like he'll set out as soon as he can.”</p>
<p class="western">Meera nodded. “The cooks are dishing out lunch in the great hall, I wanted to know if you wanted anything.”</p>
<p class="western">“Stew and bread will be fine,” Bran answered. “Eat your lunch in the hall before you bring me mine.” Meera smiled before walking off. She was wearing a smart tunic &amp; breeches that she'd been given by the castle steward. It was strange to not see her in the sheepskin furs that he'd gotten so used to seeing her in beyond the Wall, but he had plenty of time to get used to it. The only time she wasn't at Bran's side was when he was searching the past. She would spend that time in the yard, training to use sword and bow and spear, like everyone else.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Finding the Weirwood throne had only helped Bran use his powers. Being surrounded by Weirwood roots seemed to make it easier for him to focus while searching. Since Jon left two days ago, Bran had been doing his best to search for moments of Littlefinger that would likely make the treasonous lord panic enough that he would risk trying to leave Winterfell. The ones Bran had come upon all showed Littlefinger with Bran's father, mother or Sansa. In fact that was something he'd noticed about all the moments he saw: they would always be ones with his family. </span>
  <em>It is probably easier because they are my relatives.</em>
  <span> The theory had been bubbling in his head.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">While Meera was getting him something to eat, Bran slipped into the past. He didn't need to worry about not being awake when she returned; over the last few days, firmly shaking him by the shoulder had been a reliable enough method to bring him back from the Weirwood network: he couldn't think of a better name for it. It would always begin with him standing in a black void of nothing before an inifinty of images would flash into view; creating a noise that would near deafen him. That would last only an instant before the images slowed and the volume decreased.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>From there he would focus on what he wanted to find, keeping the subject a solid thought in his mind. Starting off, he'd aimless wondered through different moments, finding times of himself as a boy. He'd seen his birth and all his namedays. He'd seen the time when Robb had led him, Arya, Sansa and Rickon into the crypts to see their grandfather's statue, only to have Jon jump out in front of them half there, covered in flour and screaming at the top of his lungs. Jon &amp; Robb had started to laugh hysterically, stopping when Rickon began to cry. While Bran &amp; Arya saw to comforting their youngest brother, Sansa had hit both of them and scolded them. As he watched the moment, Bran hadn't failed to notice Sansa had been harder on Jon, even threatening him with telling their mother about causing Rickon to cry. </span>
  <em>She treated him so coldly before we all left Winterfell.</em>
  <span> Bran could only be glad that had changed.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"><span>One thing he'd been sad to see again was his first beheading, the one he'd seen before King Robert visited... before he'd fallen from the tower. Seeing that beheading had led to him reliving all the events leading up to his fall. The King's arrival, the feast in the hall, seeing Father for the last time, climbing the tower, Jaime Lannister saying, “The things I do for love,” before </span>he pushed Bran from the window, falling onto the Godswood floor. Bran had screamed in anguish as he came out of the past and Meera had done her best to comfort him.</p>
<p class="western">Slipping into the past today, the first image that he found was that of Father meeting Littlefinger the day he first arrived in King's Landing, which Bran had seen before. The thought of Uncle Brandon beating Littlefinger in the duel for Mother's hand never ceased to bring a smile to Bran's lips. The next image he saw was Littlefinger speaking to Sansa on a dock in King's Landing. <em>Seeing Sansa happy is always nice</em><span>, Bran thought. The thought led to him onto seeing her talk with an old woman and a young woman about marrying a man named Loras. He expected to follow Sansa after this image, but didn't. The next image he saw was the old woman – Olenna Tyrell, that was her name – speaking with the bald Lord Varys, who had tried to get father safely to the Wall. They were talking about something he couldn't recall after the image changed. The next thing Bran saw was Lord Varys in the throne room of the Red Keep, speaking to Littlefinger. Again, he could not recall what they discussed. The only thing that Bran rememebered was Littlefinger saying, “Chaos is a ladder.”</span></p>
<p class="western">Bran returned from the Weirwood network, expecting to Meera to have returned from the great hall but finding her nowhere in evidence. The throne chamber was dimly lit by torches hanging in the iron sconces on the walls. They did nothing for warming the place, that was why Bran wore his cloak around his shoudlers and laid a blanket over his lap. With how the throne was positoned, sitting in it gave Bran a clear view of anyone walking toward the chamber from the crypts. As it would just so happen, someone was – it wasn't Meera.</p>
<p class="western">“Hello Lord Baelish,” Bran said, coldly curt.</p>
<p class="western">The thin man walked into the chamber, a short smile on his face. “Hello Brandon,” he greeted with all the false curtesy of fomrality. “I'm pleased you made it home safely.” Littlefinger sat on Bran's wheelchair, which was sitting next to the throne. “Knowing another of Cat's children is in Winterfell again brings me great joy.”</p>
<p class="western">“What are you here for Baelish?” Bran asked bluntly.</p>
<p class="western">“I just wanted to talk,” Baelish answered, as the pair of them were best friends. “I'm one of your bannermen. It's probably best we get to know each other.”</p>
<p class="western">“You're not my bannerman, you're Jon's bannerman,” Bran said. “He is the head of House Stark.” Littlefinger's smile twitched. It was only a subtle twitch, but a twitch nonetheless.</p>
<p class="western">“Aren't you troubled by that?” he asked. “Jon is, after all, your bastard brother. By rights, as your father's last living, trueborn son, you should be wearing the northern crown”.</p>
<p class="western">Bran frowned. “No I shouldn't, Lord Baelish. By naming Jon their King, the northern lords &amp; ladies legitamised him collectively. Therefore Jon is first in the line of succession after Robb, before me. Besides, I'm not fit to be a king. I was never fully taught what is required of a good lord before my father went south, Jon was. Eventhough he was a bastard then, my father still made sure that Jon learned every lesson Robb had to.”</p>
<p class="western">Baelish frowned, then sighed. “I thought you might want to see this.” He produced a dagger from his belt and handed it to Bran. The handle was dragonbone. Unseathing it showed the blade was valyrian steel, dim light reflecting off of it. “It's the dagger that was used in an attempt on your life,” Baelish explained as Bran examined the blade. It was very light and the edge looked extremely sharp</p>
<p class="western">“I knew that,” Bran replied, nonchalant. He watched Littlefinger's eyebrows knit.</p>
<p class="western">“How would you know?” Baelish asked, puzzled. Bran sheathed the blade again, but kept hold of it.</p>
<p class="western">“Because I saw my father show it to you.” Baelish swallowed. “I believe you are unaware of why I was away from the castle in the first place, so I'll tell. I was beyond the Wall learning from someone called the Three-Eyed Raven. He taught me how to see the past and since I returned to Winterfell, I've been my best to practice this ability.” Baelish's face dropped completely. “Don't give me that look, My Lord.”</p>
<p class="western">Littlefinger went to snatch the dagger, but Bran held it tight saying, “No, no, no. You don't get to keep this. A man as dispicable as you doesn't deserve valyrian steel. I will give it to a man who deserves it, should such a time arise. I'd tell you to leave this castle and never return, but our King has ordered you to remain so that's what you'll do. Otherwise you will face the punishment any traitor deserves.”</p>
<p class="western">Littlefinger scowled, then was gone, retreating like the weasle he was. Bran placed the dagger in a pocket on the inside of his cloak. Baelish passed Meera as she walked into the chamber, holding a tray with a bowl of stew and some bread on it. She looked confused. “What was he so bitter about?” she asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Something I said,” Bran answered, taking the bowl. Gripping the spoon, Bran picked up some of the stew. The broth was thin but the large chunks of potatoe and beef made up for it. Placing the spoonful in his mouth, Bran smiled. It was the taste of home. “I missed food this good.” Meera smiled her agreement. “Do you remember where Jon's solar is?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes.”</p>
<p class="western">Bran produced the dagger from his pocket. “Place this with Dark Sister.” Meera took the blade and unseathed it. Realising it was another valyrian weapon, she covered the blade and was off again. Bran finished his stew – having mopped up the spare broth with the bread – and strechted his arm out to put the bowl on his wheelchair. Instead of returning to the past, he rolled his eyes back; finding a crow atop the ramparts.</p>
<p class="western">The air was cold and the wind soft. Somewhere in the man-nest, humans were clashing metal claws while atop horses. The crow took wing and flew over the castle to the man-nest's entrance facing the sun and the burning red light. Sitting above the entrance in-between two pieces of man-rock jutting out of a larger piece, the crow watched as a small man moved toward the entrance on top of a horse. Two men on foot blocked his way while another ran off in the direction of the clashing metal claws. The small man was barking at the two blocking his way. Somewhere in the back of the crow's mind, he could picture a human's mouth curling into a smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Sansa II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa asserts herself as a ruler now Jon is away.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>69 kudos. Nice.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Sansa</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">In the main courtyard, steel met steel and arrows flew from bows into straw men. Jon's orders to have more people trained in combat were being followed in full vigor. Over seeing all of it was Ser Kyle, the Master-at-arms. He was strolling about the yard – feet crunching in the snow &amp; the bottom of his cloak getting caught in the wind – observing his men-at-arms running through drills with their trainees. The knight was a handsome man with a pair of bright green eyes complimented by golden brown hair that he let grow as as fair his shoudlers. Lining his jaw was a beard of the same colour that was allowed to grow thick to comabt the cold. Sansa had never bothered to notice this about the knight before, but her attention was drawn to it as Ser Kyle bent his toros to bow slightly as she briskly stepped outside the main keep with Brienne at her side and Pod close behind them.</p><p class="western">“See about joining in with the others Pod,” Brienne told him, “I will be training Princess Sansa on her own.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, My Lady,” Pod answered, before doing as he was bid.</p><p class="western">“What shall we be doing today Brienne?” Sansa asked her sworn sword.</p><p class="western">“I thought I might get you on horseback, My Lady,” she answered. Sansa raised her eyebrows, the corners of her lips curling upwards slightly.</p><p class="western">The pair retrieved their mounts from the stable and pulled themselves up into their saddles. They trotted into the northern courtyard, choosing it for being less crowded than the main courtyard where others practiced there swordplay. The hooves <em>clopped</em> softly through the snow as the two horses carried Sansa &amp; Brienne. Sansa always looked forward to training. Today, it would hopefully be a good way to relieve some of her stress.</p><p class="western">She'd held her first court on her own this morning. Normally, when Jon was at Winterfell, she only played the role of advisor during court, but today it'd been her making the final decisions. Luckily, she'd had Brienne and Maester Wolkan by her sides, lending advise. Most of those who'd come to court were smallfolk from nearby villages, towns and communes asking for a place in the castle now that winter was upon them. Winterfell was well equipped for these sorts of cases. Every winter saw smallfolk moving from their farms in the surrounding countryside to the castle, requesting to take up residence. None of these smallfolk were turned away, the cases easy to deal with. The stress had only come when a petty lord in charge of a holdfast near Winterfell started complaining about the increased amount of food that he had to send to the castle this winter.</p><p class="western">“This is obsurd,” the lord had said. “How do you expect me to feed me and mine for the whole winter if you take more of my food?”</p><p class="western">“Because, My Lord, it is very likely, certain even, that your smallfolk will be called to take shelter in Winterfell for their own safety,” Sansa had told him. “And you yourself will be called upon to bring what men you have in your household to fight against the White Walkers when the time comes that King Jon decides the time is right to take the fight to them.”</p><p class="western">The lord had spat. “Bugger that. My food is needed to feed my children, men-at-arms and smallfolk, not the smallfolk of other lords that would be staying in this castle.”</p><p class="western">Sansa had kept calm while saying, “Guards, please escort this man to the dungeon. Perhaps a few days in a cell will help him come to realise that we all need to work together to survive the coming threat.” The petty lord was dragged out of the hall, kicking and screaming. Sansa had continued on in court, doing her best to act like what she'd done had been natural rather than making her extremely nervous: she wasn't very confident yet about ruling by herself without Jon. The two of them had been relying on each other since Jon was named King.</p><p class="western">“I think we should begin by simply hitting our steel together while moving slowly on our horses,” Brienne began. “Swordplay on horseback is obviously more complicated than on foot because you're having to control your mount at the same time as worrying about your opponent.” Sansa simply nodded along.</p><p class="western">They began by first lightly clashing their blunt steel, picking up speed gradually. Eventually they got to winding their blades around each other, so Sansa could get a feel for how to properly handle steel on horseback. After that they performed their first proper duel, keeping their horses still for the first. Brienne won – unsurprisingly – but Sansa felt her confidence grow enough to begin moving their mounts.</p><p class="western">Swords clashed atop horses. Brienne's sword thrusted toward her. Sansa deflected it to her left, winding her own blade around the top of her opponent's to then slide it down toward the crossguard. She kept her mount under her control during the sword maneuver with the riens in her left hand, tightly wound around her fist. The blunt tip of Sansa's sword pressed lightly against the skin of Brienne's neck. A smirk grew on Sansa's face. “Dead,” she simply stated.</p><p class="western">“Yes,” Brienne agreed. They left the bind and brought their arming swords back toward them. “You're certainly feeling the blade as part of your arm now. But on horseback you need to remember that your mount is a target as well.” Brienne laid her sword in against the neck of Sansa's horse. “The horse is easier to hit than you are.” Sansa gave a nod before they continued with a number of more duels. Brienne won most of them. Sansa could not help but think back to when she &amp; Theon were being chased by Bolton men after escaping Winterfell, of Brienne &amp; Pod riding to their aid. As the sparring continued, Sansa felt her arm growing more tired, but the stress seemed to be going anyway. That was until a guardsman came running into the courtyard, yelling for her.</p><p class="western">“My Lady,” he shouted, armour rattling. “Princess Sansa.”</p><p class="western">Sansa left her duel, bringing her horse around to face him. “What is it?” she asked plainly.</p><p class="western">“Lord Baelish is trying to leave,” the guardsman answered.</p><p class="western">Sansa turned her head round and gave Brienne a nod. Returning her attention to the guardsman, “Thank you for telling me.” She and Brienne dropped their sparring swords on the ground. “Take those to Ser Kyle.” The guardsmen gave a nod as Sansa's stirrups went into her horse and she cantered to leave the courtyard.</p><p class="western">“Clear the way!” she called those in her path. Her horse broke into a gallop and the people in front of her made way as she travelled all the way around the castle to the southern courtyard; Brienne following. She didn't take the shorter trip through the main courtyard because she knew it was far too crowded to gallop through.</p><p class="western">Baelish was atop a horse in front of the southern gate, barking at the guards, “Let me through. I have urgent buisness to attend in the Eyrie.”</p><p class="western">Sansa brought her mount to a stop a meter from Littlefinger's. “Lord Baelish,” she greeted him. “What do you think you're doing?”</p><p class="western">“I'll tell you what I've told these guards, My Lady,” he replied. “I need to return to the Eyrie in order to see to ugrent buisness.”</p><p class="western">“And how urgent is your buisness that it would require you to disobey an order given to you by your King?” Sansa asked.</p><p class="western">“Winter has hit the Vale harder than I expected. I need to be there to organise the effort to properly provide for my smallfolk.”</p><p class="western">“You were ordered by King Jon to remain in Winterfell. Regardless of what needs to be done in the Vale, you will follow that order. Otherwise you will be commiting treason.”</p><p class="western">“Sansa, ple–”</p><p class="western">“You will refer to me as 'My Lady' or 'Princess Sansa,'” Sansa snapped. “I will not have my athuority undermined. His Grace, King Jon, put me in charge of Winterfell and I will follow the orders he gave me, so will you. I remember you telling me yourself that the Vale has competent people running it while you are away. If you're so eager to know what state the Vale is in then send a raven and ask. I'm sure my cousin Robin will understand that you can't be there due to a royal order.”</p><p class="western">“This is outrageous. I will not be held hostage here.”</p><p class="western">“Then you should have thought twice about admitting to me that you think I should wear the northern crown.” Baelish huffed, scowled, then brought his horse around. He broke it into a canter in the direction of the stables and Sansa smiled at herself for how well she handled the situation. Brienne came alongside her.</p><p class="western">“That went as expected,” she observed.</p><p class="western">“If we're lucky, he'll try to leave again and then we'll have cause to throw him in a cell.”</p><p class="western">“But he's smart, so he won't. He'll keep to himself.”</p><p class="western">“Sending ravens with whatever information he thinks will get the crown off Jon's head and on mine. But we shan't worry about that.”</p><p class="western">“Why not, My Lady?”</p><p class="western">“Wolkan is going to keep records of every raven sent &amp; recieved. Who wrote them, who they were intended for, where they were going or came from. It will mean Littlefinger can't send a message without us knowing what it's about and also means he has no good reason to think he's being singled out.”</p><p class="western">“Well that's a good way to keep on top Baelish's plotting.”</p><p class="western">Sansa nodded. “Of course it was under the guise that Jon wanted the record kept so he could read them once he returned.”</p><p class="western">“Was it his idea?”</p><p class="western">“Yes.” She turned her head to Brienne. “I'm honestly surprised how quickly her learnt to play the game.” She smiled her admiration for her brother. Changing her tone, “I think that'll be all the sparring I'll do for now. I've need to speak to Bran.”</p><p class="western">“Of course, My Lady. Would you like me to accompany you?”</p><p class="western">“No. Get Podrick sharper.”</p><p class="western">Brienne gave a nod and circled her horse around toward the main courtyard. Sansa took her own mount to the stables, dismounting with ellagance and handing the riens to a stableboy. She left the stables and made her way round to the entrance of the crypts.</p><p class="western">Down she went, making in the direction of the Weirwood throne chamber once she came to the bottom of the stairs. Her cloak dragged behind her and her footsteps echoed against the stone of the archs she passed underneath. Coming to the chamber where Bran spent his days, she took a seat on his wheelchair. Her brother was lost in the past, looking for something or discovering an event no one had known of. Being honest to herself, Sansa still wasn't entirely convinced by his ability to see the past; but she knew Bran wouldn't lie to her or Jon about such things, so she'd kept her secpticsism to herself up to now. Then he was back, fully alert and a smile on his face when he saw Sansa. <em>Perhaps I'll ask him about it now.</em></p><p class="western">“Well done,” Bran told her.</p><p class="western">“About Littlefinger? How did you know?” Sansa asked, confused.</p><p class="western">“I was watching. Besides seeing the past, I can also control animals. It's call warging.”</p><p class="western">She chuckled playfully. “Prove it.”</p><p class="western">“Alright. A crow will fly in here and land on your shoulder. It will be me.”</p><p class="western">His eyes rolled back until they were just white. Sansa instinctively went to check her brother was fine. He was. After a minute or so, she heard a crow's quork echoing from the crypts. Looking toward the chamber entrance, she saw it glide in, coming to land on her shoulder. Sansa stared at it, apprehensive. The crow rubbed its beak against her temple. Sanas flinched as it moved.</p><p class="western">“I told you so,” Bran said as the crow flew off. Sansa looked at him, impressed.</p><p class="western">“Littlefigner will keep to himself for now, if he knows what's good for him.”</p><p class="western">Bran smiled. “I'm glad to hear.”</p><p class="western">Sansa nodded, then took hold of his nearest hand. “Since you've just proven you can control animals, do you think you could prove your ability to see the past? I don't think you'd lie to me, it's just quite far fetched thing and I'm not entirely convinced.”</p><p class="western">Bran's faced darkened all of a sudden. “Not to worry,” he replied with anger bleeding into his voice. his grip on her hand tightening, “it's only a problem if you have twins.”</p><p class="western">Sansa's hand instinctively covered her left breast, a phantom pain filling that part of her chest; face grave, eyes wide. “H-how?” she stammered.</p><p class="western">“I wanted to cut that bastard's throat when I saw him mutilate you,” Bran told her, subdued.</p><p class="western">“But how would you know to look for it?” Sansa asked.</p><p class="western">“I didn't. When I go into the past, events that I see are much like a dream. One flows to another naturally, usual linked by a person in each of them. When I first touched our Weirwood, I had all of history to look at. I wanted to see our family. When I thought of you, your wedding to Ramsay appeared to me and it was followed by him mutilating you.”</p><p class="western">“You saw me nak–”</p><p class="western">“Yes, I saw you naked. I barely remember what you looked like, so don't berate me. I would rather I never saw it.” His tone calmed. “Is it alright? A wound like that would be easily infected.”</p><p class="western">“Maester Wolkan came to me as early as he could and applied a medicine and a cover. He and I and Ramsay were the only ones to ever know.”</p><p class="western">Bran brought Sansa's hand up, his lips meeting the leather glove she wore as he kissed the back of it. “You're safe now. I'll look after you. Jon'll look after you. We're a pack again, in our den, where we belong.”</p><p class="western">“And Arya's somewhere. Lost.” A tear came to her eye at the thought of her sister. “She's in Westeros at least. But we don't know when she'll be home.”</p><p class="western">“She'll come home. Don't worry.”</p><p class="western">Sansa gave a small nod, smiling a small smile, before standing to leave. When she reached the arch connecting the throne chamber and the crypts, Sansa stopped to turn back around. “I rememebr you mentioning being able to see the future as well.”</p><p class="western">“Yes,” Bran replied. “Glimpes.”</p><p class="western">Sansa moved back toward him. “Can you look for mine?”</p><p class="western">Bran gave a nod then touched one of the roots forming the throne. He was gone for a brief time and when he returned, Bran told her blankly, “You will be the Queen in the North.”</p><p class="western">The shock hit her like a sledehammer against her head. “Me... Queen in the North?” Bran nodded, emoitonless. The panic set in and she ran, first to the crypt entrance and then to the main courtyard where Ser Kyle was. Sansa didn't care if she didn't look lady-like, this was too important to worry about looking proper. “Ser Kyle!” she barked.</p><p class="western">The Master-at-arms turned to her, worried. “Yes, My Lady?” he said.</p><p class="western">“I want you to send your fastest rider to catch up with King Jon. I'm certain that there is an assassin amoung his men or the men he's transporting. I also want men keeping close to Prince Bran day and night, I believe his live is at risk as well.”</p><p class="western">Ser Kyle nodded, face serious. “I will see to it immediately.”</p><p class="western">The rider left through the northern gate and Sansa saw him off personally, telling him to ride as hard as he could to catch with up His Grace. She stood there, watching the horse kick up snow &amp; mud behind it, thundering up the Kingsroad, appearing smaller with each meter it travelled north. <em>I don't want to be Queen if it means Jon has to die for it. </em>She did not know what she would do if the news came back that Jon was dead. The realm would be doomed, of that she was sure. <em>And all Littlefinger will have to do is have Bran killed before he can say the Vale will only be an ally to the North if I marry him. </em>For a brief moment, she thought, <em>The White Walkers are a better fate than that.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again guys. I'll add the BAMF Sansa tag if you think I should because of this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Jaime II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime travels north to the Riverlands.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Jaime</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They came upon Harrenhal after a week and a half of travel, when normally it would have taken a week.<span>The crumbling, black towers that would have been Harren the Black's masterpiece never failed to intimidate. Jaime had stopped his army here on the way to Riverrun and on the way back from the Twins to find it occupied by squatters. It was no different this time. His outriders cleared them out by the time the main column reached the castle, the last of them leaving the gate as Jaime &amp; Bronn cantered up the track leading to it. </span><em>Roose Bolton left it to head north and Littlefinger hasn't stepped foot in it once since being made its lord, so the squatters take to it like rats to a food cellar.</em></p>
<p class="western">Harrenhal's main yard was caked with an already disturbed blanket of snow, the sky was seeking to repair the damage. Crude shelters had been set up that prevented snow from quenching the cookfires underneath them. As his men began to flow into the yard, Jaime raised his voice to announce, “Don't get too comfortable, we will move off the day after tomorrow.” He hated to leave so little time for rest but every extra day they spent travelling to the Twins gave Arya Stark another day to hide or Lord Arwood another to get closer to finding her. <em>And the last thing I want is for him to hide her before I do.</em></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It was entirely possible that Arya could have made a successful escape already: heading to Moat Cailin and asking for passage to Winterfell. Whether or not the guards there believed she was Arya Stark didn't matter, the only people that could confirm that she was who she said she was were Jon &amp; Sasna Stark. </span>
  <em>And if she reaches them, she is safe already. </em>
  <span>That would be the best thing Jaime could hope for. As much as it would undermine any chance of Cersei strengthing her positon against the Starks, Jaime wanted to recover whatever honour he could fulfiling his oath to Catelyn Stark. </span>
  <em> And if that means letting a young girl find the only family she has left instead of helping my sister fight her wars, then so be it.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">He was glad to be rid of Cersei; at the same time dreading it. Without being by her side, she was like to get up to all sorts of plotting that could end in disaster. <em>Like the Sept of Baelor. </em>But when he rode out of the dragon gate, Jaime could not help feel free of the blight she was on his person. He'd not failed to notice that Cersei had been needlessly over critical of the last arrangements he'd made before leaving: Jaime had summoned men from petty lords near the city to help the City Watch in keeping the peace. Cersei had said, “Let them tear each other apart. It's all they're good for.” It was apparent to Jaime that Cersei didn't care about being a good ruler, instead only caring that she was wearing a crown &amp; sitting the throne: much like the husband she'd despised. No wonder the North had named Ned Stark's bastard their King, no wonder Olenna Tyrell and Dorne had decided to help the Dragon Queen. It wouldn't be difficult to be a better ruler than the one sitting on the Iron Throne.</p>
<p class="western">Bronn rode alongside Jaime; his black hair combed back, wearing good chainmail underneath his grey-green tunic, a brown, winter cloak covering his shoulders. Being out on the open road with his good friend was extremely pleasant compared to being stuck in the Red Keep with Cersei. The pair of them led a force of four thousand men clad in red Lannister armour which clattered as the foot soliders marched and the horses walked forward. The outriders he'd sent ahead cleared the way of people travelling toward the city. Winter brought with it smallfolk from the surrounding villages and towns that didn't want to be snowed in should the snow fall heavily enough. They would be men, woman, children and elderly, travelling with what possessions they could carry. <em>It is them who will suffer the most because of this winter.</em></p>
<p class="western">Another person Jaime wouldn't have to suffer was Euron. Greyjoy had been an infectious fungus upon King's Landing ever since he declared for Cersei. Most of the day he spent at the docks and building yards, working on the thousand ships he promised. As Jaime had led his army out of the city, he took note of the receded treeline: it had once been closing in on the city wall, but now it was a hundred metres back and occupied by workmen cutting it further &amp; further back so that Greyjoy would have wood for his ships. <em>It should be used for firewood instead.</em></p>
<p class="western">“That Greyjoy is a cunt,” Bronn said from beside Jaime, as if the sellsword turned knight could tell what he was thinking.</p>
<p class="western">“He is,” Jaime agreed. “Euron humours Cersei far too much. I've been the only one quenching her wild impluses since she hasn't bothered to assemble a new small council. Greyjoy will be one of only two advisers Cersei will have while I'm on this trip to the Riverlands. I'd have half a mind to think Cersei is falling for him.”</p>
<p class="western">“And you don't like that.” Jaime eyed Bronn. “Don't deny it. You might not be fucking her anymore, but you're pissed off at the thought of her fucking someone else.”</p>
<p class="western">“I want her to fuck someone who won't betray her the moment he has dragons under his control.”</p>
<p class="western">“And you think he will?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'd be a fool to think otherwise. Greyjoy was banished from Westeros for a reason. His pursuit of dark magic was deemed far too dangerous. He even killed his own brother, Victarion. Even if he doesn't betray Cersei, I don't want to see half of Westeros burnt to a cinder.”</p>
<p class="western">“What does the North mean to you?”</p>
<p class="western">“It is populated by innocent smallfolk who have no say in who rules them. And Sansa Stark is there as well. I still have an oath to her mother to keep.”</p>
<p class="western">“Careful your sister's extra ears don't hear you say that,” Bronn warned. “You could be welcomed by Ilyn Payne's sword once we get back here.”</p>
<p class="western">“Let them listen. She's perfectly aware of my oath.” Jaime sighed. “Besides, now that the Starks have retaken Winterfell and seem to be keeping to themselves, I seriously think that there is no hope of them ever accepting rule from the Iron Throne. It would be better if Cersei could just put aside her pride and leave them be, burning them will do no good. Hells, we should be organising an alliance with them, like the one with the Ironborn.”</p>
<p class="western">“And how would you go about doing that, considering it was your family who led to theirs being almost gone?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'd offer them peace and cooperation. I'd tell them that if the war our families have been fighting goes on, it will lead to nothing more than suffering, so we should instead try to work together as two separate kingdoms, toward the shared girl of survivial.” He sighed, twice as tired as before. “I pray they'd accept it, but I doubt they would.”</p>
<p class="western">The first night of the march, they camped in a field that the Kingsroad ran through. They were still in the Crownlands and the snow had not been too bad. Sitting by a modest fire was enough to keep warm. He would rather not sleep. Near every night since he'd first had it, the raven dream had plagued his nights. <span>“Your true enemy lies north,” the raven would always </span><em>quork</em><span> at him. He'd first thought the raven was telling him to hunt for Arya Stark in the Riverlands, but it had persisted even after Jaime made the decision to look for her and was confident the reason was to send her back home. The dream only confused him and he dreaded having it again,</span><span><span> tossing &amp; turning for an hour before finally drifting off to sleep.</span></span></p>
<p class="western">The confusion of the dream was lessened slightly as he slept that night.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>He was a lion, as always, prowling through the Riverlands on the hunt. The raven was not there this time, standing north of him and </span>
  <em>quorking </em>
  <span>insufferably. Instead, it was a direwolf, eyes blood red and fur white as snow. Seeing it, Jaime remembered back to when Robert had gone north to ask Ned Stark to be his hand. Each of the Stark children had direwolf pups following them around, even Stark's bastard. The other pups had been grey or black, but Jon's had been pure white. </span>
  <em>This is his is direwolf</em>
  <span>, Jaime realised. </span>
  <em>Why is it here?</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Jaime stopped in his tracks and the direwolf strolled up to him. The wolf circled him once, sniffing up and down, before stopping in front of him. “North,” the wolf said. “You must ride north.” Jaime wanted to reply but was powerless to, so he settled for listening. “North past Moat Cailin. North past Winterfell. To the Wall. The true enemy is beyond the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime could vaguely rememeber the one conversation he had with the Bastard of Winterfell. The boy had been going off to the Wall to join the Night's Watch. Mance Rayder had been the threat from beyond the Wall that the Night's Watch had been warning of until Stannis moved north and smashed the wildings to pieces. <em>What more could be up there?</em><span> He wasn't going to accept that grumpkins and snarks were real. Jaime was given nothing more that might have hinted at what this true enemy could be, waking to crusty eyes and the snow falling heavier than it had the day before, but not so much that it would hinder their progress anymore than before.</span></p>
<p class="western">North they continued, doing their best to keep a good pace. The snowfall increased gradually throughout the day, reaching its heaviest when they stopped to sleep that night. It fell at the same strength for the next two days of riding before it relented &amp; eventually stopped. Depsite the snow stopping, Jaime's mood did not improve. <span>The only joy he found that night was that they were now a decent way into the Riverlands. </span><em>Every day takes us closer to the Twins. </em>With the snow stopping, the clouds cleared; for the first time in a while, he looked up into the sky and saw the red comet bleeding across the night sky. Forboding took hold of Jaime again: the comet had been creeping its way North and seemed to have gotten bigger. <em>What is it doing up there?</em></p>
<p class="western">Jaime's sleep that night was disturbed by a squire shaking him awake. He'd dreamed of Jon Stark's direwolf again. The squire told him that there had been an incident on the edge of the camp. Jaime shoved his feet into his boots and threw a cloak over his shoulders before following the squire to the edge of the camp. The night was cold and the moon was hiding, the only light in the world coming from the stars that had decided to appear and the torch poles &amp; cookfires scattered about the camp. They'd made camp in a spares collection of trees that had been sitting an hour off from the Kingsroad.</p>
<p class="western"><em>I should of expected this</em><span>, Jaime thought when he saw the body. </span>A young lad with cheeks covered in peach fuzz leaned up against a tree, breeches ripped &amp; missing a leg, pelvis peaking from the stump. His throat had been torn out, teeth marks in the flesh of his neck. “A wolf attack,” Jaime stated. The smell was terrible: not only was there the strong, coppery smell of blood coming from the puddle forming in the snow, it was mixed together with the smell of shit. Clearly the lad had walked away from the camp to empty his bowels. Whether or not he'd shat before or after he'd lost his throat was neither here nor there. “Why did no one go come with him?” Jaime was angry, but his fatigue stopped it from leaking into his voice.</p>
<p class="western">“There was someone else,” the squire said. “His friend came with him.” The squire pointed. “Stood by that tree while his friend saw to his buisness. He said this lad screamed right before the wolf attacked. The friend scared the wolf off, but couldn't stop it from stealing the lad's leg, as you can see Ser.” The squire sighed. “His friend is in pretty bad shape. He's with his squad and they managed to get the story out of him, but he's shaking and panicing, drinking wine to calm himself.”</p>
<p class="western">“See that he's not left alone for the next two days,” Jaime ordered. “Have this body burned.” The method of disposal was chosen because he remembered his dream that night. <em>Burn the dead</em><span>, the wolf had said. </span><em>Burn your dead. </em><span>“From now on, if someone wants to take a shit, they go with two other people, at least one of them armed and at least one of them standing with the person taking the shit.” The squire nodded and the orders were given. That only made the wolves attack in larger numbers the next night, so Jaime told his men to shit closer to the camp.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>One thing the marching column wasn't a stranger to was encountering other travellers on the Kingsroad. Freeriders and camp follwers latched themselves to the original four thousand, swelling their number to half a thousand more. Others just stopped on the side of the road to let the column past. One such caught Jaime's attention as they entered the second week of their march: a young woman on a decent horse that couldn't have been older than fifthteen. She had bright red hair and a common face, wearing a brown, travel stained riding tunic. “Where you going?” she asked him as they passed her.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Nothing that would concern a girl of your age,” Jaime answered.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Oh come on,” she yelled. “What's the 'arm in it?”</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Jaime sighed. “We're looking for Arya Stark,” he told her.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>The wolf bitch who killed ol' Walda?”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>The same.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Cave her skull in when you find her.”</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>To that he didn't reply. </span>
  <em>If that happens, I'll kill the man wielding the hammer.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The wolves remained a problem for the rest of the march to Harrenhal. Jaime knew that inside the castle they would be safe from any wolves, but by the time they reached the castle, a total of thirty men had fallen victim to them. That wasn't to say the wolves had gone without casualty themselves; his men had managed to kill five. What seemed strange to Jaime was that the wolves had been plaguing them consistently since they entered the Riverlands. </span>
  <em>Either they're getting more desperate for food with winter here or its the same pack following us for some reason. </em>
  <span>Jaime had heard stories of the supposedly enormous pack of wolves plaguing the Riverlands. He hadn't believed those stories until now. </span>
  <em>An army like this provides plenty of food for a pack of that size while all their prey is hybernating.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Jaime settled in quickly, picking a sleeping cell on the lowest floor he could because the prospect of climbing so many flights of stairs wasn't appealing to him at that moment. Once settled in, he found the steward they'd brought with them to tend ravens. Jaime sent two. One to Lord Arwood Frey, telling him they were at Harrenhal and how long left it should before they reached the Twins. The second was to Winterfell, addressed to Littlefinger: <em>This is the third time I've looked after your castle for you. I expect at least an expression of gratitude from you. Send it to the Twins.</em></p>
<p class="western">Jaime ate dinner that night with Bronn and some other captains. He did his best to laugh along with the japes being made but thinking about Cersei, Euron and all the men they'd lost needlessly to wolves on the march so far meant his mood was quite poor. Jaime ate little and drank a lot. He stumbled his way to his sleeping cell, dizzy from wine. His boots were the only thing he bothered to pull off before crawling into bed and pulling a blanket over him, driftinginto sleep with a brazier burning brightly in the room. Jon Stark's direwolf paid him another visit.</p>
<p class="western">“When the raven speaks of doom,” it told him, “head north.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Jon III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon makes his way to the Wall.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Jon</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Jon found it hard to believe that this was only the second time he'd ever ridden toward the Wall from Winterfell. He rode at the front of the caravan of carriages &amp; horsemen, Edd at his side and Ghost walking ahead of them; the direwolf was near impossible to see against the snow lying on the ground and falling from the sky, heavier than he had ever seen since the white raven arrived. Jon dreaded that it would only continue to get heavier with each passing day. He wore his heaviest cloak and his jerkin with the thickest lining. With each mile they travelled north, Jon wondered how Winterfell would fair with its King gone and a Princess ruling it instead. <em>She'll take better care of it than I ever could</em>.</p><p class="western">Over the first few hours of the journey, Jon had asked what had been happening at the Wall since he'd left: “Fuck all,” Edd had answered bluntly. “All we've been doing is hitting each other with blunt steel and only ever eating Hobb's stew. What happened to you after leaving? Besides taking the castle.”</p><p class="western">“We visited every single lord we knew hadn't declared for the Boltons and then marched on Winterfell,” Jon answered. “The bastard who sent that letter put an arrow through my brother. I was stupid enough to do what he wanted and charge while my men were far behind me. Ramsay got us in a shield wall and would have killed us all if Sansa hadn't brought the Knights of the Vale to help us. She didn't even tell me they were coming.”</p><p class="western">“Why the fuck wouldn't she?”</p><p class="western">“I don't know. All I can say is that she's promsied to never keep something like that a secret again.”</p><p class="western">“How has she been going about that?”</p><p class="western">“She's been very open. She me told that that cunt Baelish wants her as a wife and sees her as a replacement for her mother.”</p><p class="western">“And what are you doing about that cunt?”</p><p class="western">“Told his bannerman to mount his head on a spike if he tried anything funny.”</p><p class="western">“Aye. That sounds smart.”</p><p class="western">“That's why I told him to do it.”</p><p class="western">A silence breathed between the two of them. “So what made you decide to come back to the Night's Watch?” he asked. “You seemed pretty adament about no longer being held to your vows. To be honest, I thought you weren't ever going to mention it again.”</p><p class="western">“I still consider myself no longer a part of the Night's Watch.”</p><p class="western">Edd stared at him. “Some of the lads won't like to hear that, even more so than not liking your being King and Lord Comamnder at the same time. I should know. I'm one of them.”</p><p class="western">Jon offered him a glance. “And I wasn't expecting you to change your mind.”</p><p class="western">“How do you expect me to let you act as Lord Commander while at the same time as you consider yourself no longer a part of the Night's Watch?”</p><p class="western">“The same reason you gave to me once you arrived at Winterfell as to why you would let me be Lord Commander and a King at the same time: a few broken vows don't matter when it comes to the survival of every last person in Westeros. The only reason I even considered returning to the title of Lord Commander is to hopefully settle some of those who think me a deserter and because I need the Night's Watch to follow orders without complaining that I'm no longer their leader.”</p><p class="western">Edd frowned. “So you're lying to the men.”</p><p class="western">“I'm not lying. I still intend to act as Lord Commander.”</p><p class="western">As much as Jon would have liked it to be otherwise, that left Edd in a sullen silence for the rest of the day. When they stopped for the night, they found a clearing close to the edge of the Wolfswood. Fires were lit and tents went up. Jon spoke amoung the soldiers to get a grasp of how they were feeling about staying at Castle Black. Most of them were completely comfortable with it: he was their king and they'd follow his orders. Others were understandably apprehensive about being amoung thieves, murderers and rapers. Jon reassured them that if those thieves, muderers and rapers caused any trouble, they'd be punished accordingly.</p><p class="western">Once the last light left the western sky, Jon kept to himself, Edd and Ghost. The two men ate hard strips of salt beef for supper. Ghost went off into the woods to find his own dinner. <em>He'll be back in his own time.</em> Long after Jon had finished his piece of salt beef by wearing it down gradually with his teeth, he sat staring at his &amp; Edd's campfire, drinking from a waterskin. In-between two swallows, Jon suddenly tasted blood. When Edd saw Jon putting his fingers in his mouth, he asked concerned: “Did you bite your tongue?”</p><p class="western">When Jon pulled his fingers out and saw no blood, his face grew puzzled before he answered, “No, but I tasted blood.” He brought his waterskin to his lips and took two hearty swigs, trying to get rid of the taste. It got weaker but didn't leave entirely.</p><p class="western">Later on, when he pulled his sleeping furs over himself, Jon drifted off easily enough. There was something comfortable about lying in the snow, wrapped in his cloak and furs. It felt strangley more comfortable than the bed he'd left in Winterfell. The wind whipsered softly, a snow owl was hooting in a tree nearby and, somewhere far off, wolves began to howl. It was hauntingly beautiful to listen to and very pleasant to fall asleep to. <em>Ghost will be joining his voice with theirs.</em></p><p class="western">Jon found himself in a cave, a hot spring close by. He laid on the hard stone floor atop his winter furs. One thing that struck him as odd was that they were in the style of the cloaks worn in Winterfell; inspecting one of the leather straps showed an impression of a Stark direwolf. <em>What is this doing North of the Wall?</em> His moment of confusion was interrupted by a familiar groaning coming behind him. A soft hand draped over his waist and weakly attempted to roll him over.</p><p class="western">Jon rolled himself over, finding the woman he lied with. A tanlge of red hair covered her face: he was only able to make out her blue eyes through the parting strands. Jon wrappped his arms around her, pulling her naked form on top of him. She straddled his hips, slipping his waking hardness inside her already wet cunny, prompting a moan from deep within his chest. Leaning down, the woman placed a kiss upon his lips as she rocked her hips back &amp; forth, his cock sliding in &amp; out of her cunny. But it was not Ygritte's face hidden behind the red hair.</p><p class="western">Jon woke to his direwolf lying in front of him and the sky covered by grey clouds; snow fell upon every man in the clearing. He expected to wake up breathing heavily, but his chest rose &amp; fell steadily instead. He forgot his dream quickly but for the briefest of moments following his waking, Jon thought, <em>I don't want Sansa in my bed. I'm not Littlefinger. </em>Jon nudged Ghost awake and he was on all fours in an instant. Fast was broken and the caravan was moving again. Jon thought to himself as Ghost ran out in front: <em> It's only right that northmen are following the sigil of their king's house.</em></p><p class="western">“Has Hobb's stew improved?” Jon asked Edd, tiring to fill the silence.</p><p class="western">“There's less meat, less onions, less turnips, but the same amount of water. Gets thinner and thinner each day.”</p><p class="western">“So worse?”</p><p class="western">Edd gave a nod to confirm Jon's conclusion.</p><p class="western">The snow fall was consistently heavy each day. Each night Jon ate with Edd. Each night Ghost went off to hunt. He tasted blood once or twice more, equally confused each time. His mornings began with the face of his four legged, white furred companion. “I think if I were the last person left after the White Walkers attack, you'd still be stubbornly walking at my side,” he admitted to Ghost one morning. The direwolf replied by licking away the snow on Jon's face. He smiled and placed a kiss on Ghost's brow.</p><p class="western">As they set off that morning, Jon's mind drifted to the first time he made the jounrey from Winterfell to the Wall.<em> Tyrion Lannister had been with me to share his wisdom,</em> he remembered. Tyrion. Where was the dwarf now? Sansa had told Jon that Tywin Lannister had forced her to marry Tyrion in attempt to secure the North and Winterfell for the Lannisters, but Tyrion had never touched her. If ever they were face to face once again, Jon knew he'd shake Tyrion firmly by the hand for being so kind to his sister.</p><p class="western">Uncle Benjen had also been riding with him on that first journey to the Wall. Bran had said that Benjen was the other side of the Wall, half turned into a wight. If that was true – and Jon wouldn't think for a minute that Bran would lie about such a thing – he hoped to see his uncle again. It would be good to speak to Benjen after so long and talk with him. Jon hoped his uncle would be proud of all the things he'd done.</p><p class="western">A week into the journey, Jon was forced to bring the caravan to a halt when one of the men at the back came to him with a rider from Winterfell who'd been chasing them for the last few days. The rider looked very tired, most likely having ridden both day &amp; night with every little sleep in order to catch up with the caravan. Jon dismounted and got the rider to do the same, offering the poor man some water and a chunk of bread after he'd slumped into the snow, arse first.</p><p class="western">“Princess Sasna sent me to catch you,” the rider said before ripping off a piece of the bread with his teeth. He chewed, swallowed, continued. “She's certain that there is an assassin amoung the men in this caravan that Lord Baelish has instructed to kill you.” Jon knelt beside the man as he spoke, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.</p><p class="western">“How did she come to know this?” Jon asked. “Did she say?”</p><p class="western">The rider swallowed another mouthful of bread while shaking his head. “Ser Kyle pulled me from the hall while I was eating lunch and told me the Princess needed his fastest rider to go after you with this information. All Princess Sansa told me herself was to ride as hard as I could.”</p><p class="western">Jon nodded and turned to the captain travelling with them: he'd dismounted as well and joined those surrounding the rider, a group which was made of Jon, Edd, Ghost and the man from the back of the caravan who'd brought the rider to Jon. “Captain, have your men get the prisoners out of their carriages and arrange them in a line. Your soldiers are to join the line as well, once the prisoners are lined up.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, Your Grace,” the captain anwsered before seeing to the order.</p><p class="western">The line was arranged promptly, made first of the prisoners and then the soldiers, lined a few meters off of the Kingsroad. All together their number was ninty three: fifty soldiers who'd be staying at the Wall, five soldiers who Jon would be riding back to Winterfell with and thirty eight prisoners. The only people not lined up were Jon, the captain, the rider, Edd and the four other black brothers who'd ridden with Edd while returning Bran &amp; Meera to Winterfell. The line made for strange sight. The soldiers were all in boiled leather, mail, various pieces of plate armour and woolen cloaks while the prisoners wore thick rouchspun clothes and tatttered cloaks.</p><p class="western">“If you're wondering why exactly I've had you all line up like this,” Jon began, speaking loudly so he could be heard, “this rider,” he pointed, “has just caught up with us after several days of hard riding. He's told me that there is a man amoung you that Lord Petyr Baelish has told to assassinate me during this journey to the Wall.” A murmur went up &amp; down the line. “Now, I'm going to give this man the chance to step forward and admit to it. Know that if you do, I promise no harm will come to you, I'll simply have you talk to me about what exactly Lord Baelish said to you and that will be that. If you don't, then that leaves you a choice. Either you realise that there is no point in trying to kill me and continue onto the Wall peacfully, or you try and go through with the attempt on my life. Whether you succeed or not, know that you will most likely have your throat ripped out by my direwolf who I will be keeping close by my side whenever I sleep from now on.”</p><p class="western">Jon had been expecting that no one would step forward, so seeing one the prisoners do just that left him pleasantly surprised. He walked down the line, Ghost bounding ahead to sniff the man up &amp; down. The would-be assassin was at a height with Jon, looking him dead in the eye. The man was reasonably muscled, with very greasy hair that was the colour of straw blonde. Two close set brown eyes sat either side of a nose that had been broken several times. A thin beard lined his jaw.</p><p class="western">“What is your name?” Jon asked quietly.</p><p class="western">“Bronson, Your Kingship,” the man answered.</p><p class="western">“And you're the man Lord Baelish told to kill me?”</p><p class="western">“One o' them. And it weren't Lord Littlefinger who spoke t' me &amp; the others. It was one of the soldiers travellin' with us. He said that dyin' would be a better fate than the Wall and I thinkin' about how life wouldn't be worth it without bein' able to see me little girl. ”</p><p class="western">“Could you point the other men out and the soldier as well?”</p><p class="western">“I could.”</p><p class="western">“Will you?”</p><p class="western">“Not unless you offer me something in return.”</p><p class="western">“What are you guilty of, Bronson?”</p><p class="western">“Theft, Your Kingship. Stole a chicken so me little girl wouldn't starve. Her mother died birthin' her, so I'm all she 'as. Well. Had. Now she's livin' with an old woman who lived near us in Wintertown.” <em>That's not too bad a crime. That can be forgiven.</em></p><p class="western">Jon nodded. “Very well. If you point out to me the other men that you know agreed to attempt to kill me, I will pardon you. You can return to Winterfell, where you will be allowed to live and work in whatever job you desire.” Bronson stared at Jon, incredulous.</p><p class="western">“Really, Your Kingship? And me little girl can live there too? She's always loved the thought of vistin' the castle. Livin' there would make 'er the 'appiest little girl in the North.” Jon nodded. Bronson held out his hand and Jon shook it gladly.</p><p class="western">The offer had not gone unheard and soon every prisoner was claiming to be a man who agreed to assassinate Jon, but Bronson was able to pick out in the three others who actually were those who'd agree to the prosposal. Seeing as they only stepped forward when seeing the prospect of a reward, Jon didn't make the same offer to them as he had to Bronson; besides they were two rapers &amp; a murderer and Jon didn't to be seen pardoning men of rape &amp; murder. Together the four prisoners pulled out the man who'd spoken to them about killing the King. Jon ordered the rest of the soldiers to load the prisions back into the carriages, including the men Broson had picked out, while he dealt with the man. The soldier was broad shouldered, taller than Jon, with black hair and green eyes. He knelt after being told to.</p><p class="western">“Those men were lying to you, Your Grace,” he said. “No doubt they're all friends.”</p><p class="western">“I doubt they are,” Jon said. “Bronson seemed not to like the men that he picked out and Ghost didn't mind the smell of him. In comparison, Ghost isn't liking the smell you at all.” It was true. Now that the soldier had brought to the direwolf's attention, Ghost was snarling agressively at him.</p><p class="western">“He's a wild animal, how can he tell the truth of it?”</p><p class="western">“He is a very smart animal. Besides, I trust him with my life. Ghost has been with me since he was a pup and in all that time he has been nothing but loyal. If he doesn't like then I don't like you.” Jon crouched into front of the soldier. “Your name?”</p><p class="western">“Harlon.”</p><p class="western">“And what made you see to Lord Baelish's desire to have me killed, Harlon?”</p><p class="western">“He promised me a thousand gold dragons once he married the Princess Sansa.” That set an anger coursing through Jon that he didn't let show. <em>You will not have her, you rat. </em>“So, I went down to the dungeon and spoke to those four men.”</p><p class="western">“You wouldn't have gotten the gold. Princess Sansa told me of her escape from King's Landing. The man who Littlefinger had smuggle her out of the city was killed the moment that Princess Sansa was with Littlefinger. You would have probably met a similar fate.” Harlon looked down at the floor and sighed. Jon studied him, curious. “I hope you realise that by doing as Lord Baelish asked you, you've commited treason, for which there is two possible punishments.”</p><p class="western">“Death or the Wall.”</p><p class="western">“Seeing as you're already heading that way, it will probably be best you accept the Wall. The only difference is you'll be putting on a black cloak when you get there.”</p><p class="western">“Take my head, Your Grace. I'm probably going to die at some point anyway, might as well as get it over and done with. “</p><p class="western">“Are you sure that's what you want?” Jon asked sadly; he didn't want to behead a man who could regain his honour by fighting for the realm's survival. Harlon nodded. Jon sighed. “Very well.” Jon stood. “Edd, find me something to use as a block.”</p><p class="western">Edd chose one of the barrells of pitch they were taking to the Wall. Harlon leaned over it quietly, holding onto the barrell so it didn't move. The wind was whispering and snow was falling. They'd moved ten meters away from the Kingsroad. Standing behind Jon was Edd, the captain of the soldiers in the caravan and the rider from Winterfell. Ghost stood by Jon's side, blood red eyes staring at the man leaning over the barrell. Jon pulled Longclaw from its scabbard, the sound of metal on varnished wood ringing in the air. He gripped the sword in both hands, the tip of the blade pointed at the ground.</p><p class="western">“If you have any last words, speak them now,” Jon told him.</p><p class="western">“I have no family, so no one will mourn me,” Harlon said. “I'd rather that than have a wife and children being told that a man they loved dearly dishonoured himself by commiting treason.”</p><p class="western">“Is that all?” Jon asked.</p><p class="western">“That's all.”</p><p class="western">Jon drew in a breath. “Harlon, in mine own name for the crime of treason I, Jon of the house Stark, the White Wolf, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, sentence you to die.” He lifted Longclaw. The blade came down on Harlon's neck, separating it from his shoulders in one stroke. Blood spurted from the stump of Harlon's neck during the intial cut, continuing afterwards as a steady flow; a puddle of it formed in the snow. Jon sighed. “Captain, have your men strip the body of armour, swordbelt and any clothes not stained by blood. Burn everything else with the body it once you're done.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, Your Grace.”</p><p class="western">Jon slid Longclaw into its sheath before returning to the caravan. He had a soldier give up his horse for Bronson to ride back to Winterfell alongside the rider Sansa had sent. The pair of them were given extra food and water for the journey back. Jon wrote an order on some parchment, offically pardoning Bronson for his crime. The caravan began to move once Harlon's pyre had been lit and had been burning comfortably for a few minutes. For the rest of the day, Jon was in a sullen mood, upset that a man chose to die instead of trying to regain his honour. The only joy he found came from knowing the three prisoners Broson had picked out probably wouldn't try anything if they knew what was good for them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Sandor I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Brotherhood change to their plans.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just wanted to take this author's note to say thank you to everyone who's read up to this point. It is easily the most ambitious writing project I've ever commited myself to and I'm glad that there are those who are enjoying it. I want to write fiction for a living and this rewrite has been excellent experience building toward writing my own stories. Thank you for reading, it really means a lot.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Sandor</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The crackling of the fire was loud compared to the quiet of the woods. It sat in a ring of stones about a meter in diameter; and sitting around the stones was a ring made of men. Sandor sat in the circle, one of ten, dragging a whetstone down the edge of his longsword. Beric had his hands cupped around his mouth, breathing through them. Thoros had a wine skin in hand and was staring into the flames. Anguy fletched arrows, Jack – who was short an eye – was gnawing on some salt cod and the other five – Merrit, Watty, Greenbeard, Meg and Jon O' Nutten – were all wrapping themselves in their cloaks and blankets. Anyone who came upon them would be fascinated that such a diverse group of people could exist.</p>
<p class="western">None of them spoke a word. This was how evenings went for the Brotherhood, at least now that Arya Stark had gone her own way. Travelling down the Green Fork, Stark had been talkative, asking about all they'd been doing since she's last seen each of them. They'd shared their stories and she shared hers. Arya explained that the Faceless Men of Braavos had taught her how to change her appearance, but regardless of that, it wasn't easy to get used to the face she decided to put on their first night together, that of a common girl with bright red hair.</p>
<p class="western">“It's to make it more for Freys to find me,” she'd explained, her voice having changed with the face.</p>
<p class="western">“Did you choose that one because it reminded you of your sister?” Sandor had felt like asking.</p>
<p class="western">“No,” Arya had replied. “I choose it because it was easy to get my hands on.”</p>
<p class="western">The snow had been light on the journey along the river; it only being the beginning of winter, that wasn't unexpected. When they came upon Harroway Town, they spent a day buying what supplies they could. It was a modest settlement made of many stone houses with timbered roofs that were cover in snow. A two storey inn sat in the main communal area along with a market place. All of it was in the shadow of a stone round tower that was quite predictable called Harroway Tower.</p>
<p class="western">Only when the sun was dipping low in the west did the time come for the Stark girl to leave them. She didn't get weepy or being to sob, but still it had been sad for her to leave them. Any animosity that they'd shared in the past was long gone and the way down the Green Fork had been an enjoyable journey for all of them. The last Sandor saw of her, she was sat atop the new horse she'd traded for the one she'd ridden south from the Twins. After he and the Brotherhood had turned north, crossing the Trident and continuing up the Kingsroad. They were now nearing the Twins again, only this time they were on the eastern side of the Green Fork and not the western side.</p>
<p class="western">Sitting there in the circle of men around the fire, Sandor wondered what it would be like in the North. He didn't doubt that he'd receive many a dirty look from people who knew about him. <em>They can give me all the dirty looks they want, it won't bother me. </em><span>There was the possibility that this King Jon would have Sandor executed, either that or send him to the Wall. He'd voiced these concerns to Thoros and all the priest had replied with was, “Don't worry Clegane, the Lord has shown you in the battle against the enemy. You fight under a direwolf banner while Jon Stark leads the army.”</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Sandor hadn't known what to reply to that. This King in the North was a son of Ned Stark, a man who had clung to his honour like a lover. He'd fathered a bastard despite that and had certainly gotten his bastard living by the same sense of honour. Sandor wasn't looking forward to dealing with an uptight, lordling who thought himself better than everyone because he had honour. It was that honour which would lead him to sentencing Sandor to the Wall. </span>
  <em>The Night's Watch would still be in the army fighting against the dead Thoros.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>If there was any hope for Sandor not being sentenced to death or the Wall, it was the little bird. She'd grown up, spread her wings and made her nest; a Princess again, ruling beside her brother from what Thoros had claimed to see in the flames. Sansa Stark would speak in favour of him, Sandor was sure. He'd saved her life during the riots after all. If he'd not gone to find her, those flea ridden scumbags would have raped her bloody and left her with her throat cut open. Every time he looked back on that day, it gave Sandor a sense of what he thought it might be like to be a father protecting his daughter. And after that, he would feel a bit sorry for the little bird, her sister and their four brothers, three of which were dead, because the vicious cunt Joffrey had taken away their father away.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">With the world so quiet for the ten men sitting around the fire, there was no difficulty in hearing the sound of approaching hoof steps. Since all of them were criminals according to the laws of the land, so were naturally cautious of the approaching sound. All of them stood to draw swords and notch arrows, every blade &amp; arrow tip pointed in the direction that the hoof steps had come from. The fire being so bright and the trees being so dense made it difficult to see further into the woods.</p>
<p class="western">A shadow appeared, slipping from behind a tree and looking like they were coming from the dirt track the Brotherhood had followed to find the clearing they stood in. So far away, the figure looked as if they were dressed in all black, but that was what dense trees and no moon does to clothes at night. The figure carried no obvious weapons. <em>They could always be hiding one under their robes.</em><span> Sandor kept his sword in a long guard, gloved hands firmly gripping the handle. The approaching footsteps were slow and quite, the flow of fabric landing softly in his ears.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>As more of the fire's light was able to reach the figure, the robes gradually turned from pitch black to a deep scarlet. The figure covered their head with the hood of their cloak, but some loose pieces of hair were flowing over their chest, coloured a fiery, copper red. A faint glow of red was coming from what Sandor guessed was the figure's throat. The footsteps got louder as they got closer and Sandor saw the hem at the figure's feet damp from melted snow. More white flakes crusted had crusted on the cloak. The figure's shape was clearly feminine.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Lady Melisandre,” Thoros said as the figure reached them. Everyone else put away their steel and arrows, so Sandor did the same. The woman pulled her hood down, showing a pale face untouched by the cold with smooth features and deep red eyes. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>I will explain that and more,” she answered, accent flavoured in a way that Sandor could not place. “If you would be so kind as to let me joined you, I have not eaten for some time.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Of course,” Beric replied.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Everyone sat around the fire again, the Red Woman placing herself in-between Beric &amp; Thoros. They handed her a piece of bread and a wine skin. As she ate and drank, Sandor watched her, unsure what to make of her. “You're that red priestess that Stannis was fucking, aren't you?” he asked. Her face had been made of stone, but Sandor's comment chiseled that mask away and it replaced with sorrow.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>I was,” the woman said.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Silence returned and lingered for a while as Melisandre ate &amp; drank.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>We know that Stannis was defeated by the Boltons,” Beric said. “What have you been doing since then?”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>I brought Jon Snow back from death.” She left a gap for someone to reply, but no one took the opportunity, so she continued, “After that I travelled with him during his campaign against the Boltons.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Why are you down here and not up there with him?” Thoros asked.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>He banished me from the North.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Why?”</span></p>
<p class="western"><span>The Red Woman sighed. “</span>During Stannis' march to Winterfell, we became snowed in. To clear our way, I convinced Stannis to burn the Princess Shireen alive.” Sandor felt anger boil within him, thinking, <em>Stark should have beheaded you</em><span>, but kept quiet. “Jon Snow camped his army in the same place Stannis did and Lord Davos must of found the remains of the pyre because, after the Battle of the Bastards was won, he showed me the carved wooden stag he'd made for the Princess. Jon told me to ride south and if I return to the North, I will be executed.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“If I remember correctly, you believed Stannis was Azor Ahai.”</p>
<p class="western">“He wasn't. Only after bringing him back did I realise it was Jon Snow.”</p>
<p class="western">“He's a Stark now. Crowned king and took his father's name,” Jack put in.</p>
<p class="western">“Jon Stark, then. Either way, when I first brought Jon back, I couldn't explain it. He didn't seem damaged, for lack of better word. The only thing wrong with him that I could notice were the scars left over from his stabbing and the obvious shock of being dead then coming back.”</p>
<p class="western">“He wasn't a bit less?” Beric offered.</p>
<p class="western">“No. I couldn't understand it until I was riding south with nothing but my thoughts. Then I remembered that only death can pay for life. Burning the Princess Shireen had nothing to do with the snows clearing, instead it was to bring Jon back from death. He is Azor Ahai, the Prince who was promised. And I must do all I can to help him despite not being with him. That is why I sort you out.”</p>
<p class="western">“My Lady,” Beric's voice was grave, “we ride north to declare for Jon Stark in honour of his father. I hope you don't expect us to take you back there so you're not executed.”</p>
<p class="western">A sense of confidence returned to the Red Woman's face. “No. I have come to you tonight to ask you to escort me to Dorne.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why should we escort you to get to Dorne?” Thoros asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Because I will travelling lands at war. Daenerys Stormborn will be travelling from Dorne toward King's Landing. R'hllor has shown it to me in the flames. She has three dragons with her. They are fire made flesh and if I can convince her to ride to Winterfell with them then I will have helped Jon Stark fulfill his destiny.”</p>
<p class="western">“Are you certain that you can convince her?”</p>
<p class="western">“I have to. If I can't, then the world will fall.” There was silence for a moment, the only noise being the crackle of flame. “I have also been trying to develop a spell that will aid in the fight.”</p>
<p class="western">“What spell?” Thoros asked, curious.</p>
<p class="western">“A spell that will set objects a flame. Hand me a sword and place another on the ground,” she ordered. Beric gave the woman his sword and Thoros placed his own in the snow. She began to chant in a language that Sandor could only guess was Valyrian of some sort. She spoke the same sentence several times over, holding the sword forward with a hand placed against the flat of the blade. After many a repeat of the sentence, a flame grew upon both swords and she brought her hand away to stop herself from being burned. A gasp of surprise came from everyone and Thoros threw snow over the sword in front of him to kill the flame. The Red Woman placed her own sword in the snow. The flame on it died.</p>
<p class="western">“My, my,” Thoros commented. “That was impressive. What do you intend to use it for?”</p>
<p class="western">“The only weapons that can harm the army of the dead are dragonglass, fire and valyrian steel. Jon Stark has sent every last ship in White Harbour to mine the Dragonglass on Dragonstone from what I heard on my way South. There is only a limited number of valyrian steel weapons left in the world and so that leaves only fire left. It would be impractical to take torches into battle and so I thought of a way to set conventional weapons aflame at mass, allowing entire armies to fight the dead without needing any new weapons.”</p>
<p class="western">“The only problem is this spell could only be performed by a red priest or priestess,” Thoros pointed out. “I very much doubt we will be able to convince our fellow servants of R'hllor to come across the Narrow Sea.”</p>
<p class="western">“Which is why we will return north once we have convinced Daenerys Stormborn to join Jon Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“And he'll take off your head,” Sandor told her bluntly. All of this was making him anxious. He had never believed in magic and spells, but very clearly he'd been wrong. <em>And it being fire magic is even worse.</em></p>
<p class="western">“Not if I can convince him to use what resources I can offer him.”</p>
<p class="western">“So will you want to head south in the morning?” Beric asked</p>
<p class="western">“I will.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm not going South again,” Sandor cut in. <em>South means dragons and they're last the thing I want to be near. </em>“I agreed to head North.”</p>
<p class="western">“You don't have to come with us Clegane,” Beric told him. “If you want to head to Winterfell, by all means go. We'll give you some food &amp; supplies to see yourself the rest of the way and we'll head south with the Lady Melisandre. We'll come to Winterfell once she has spoken with Daenerys Stormborn and meet again, I promise you that.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. In the morning we'll part ways.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then it's settled,” Beric concluded. “It has been a pleasure riding with you Clegane. We'll be loath to lose you. You're an excellent person to have when a fight breaks out.”</p>
<p class="western">“I know I am.”</p>
<p class="western">Soon after that, everyone settled down for the night, drifting off to sleep. Sandor kept his cloak tight around him, doing his best to stay warm.</p>
<p class="western">He woke when morning's first light bled through the trees. The sky was mostly clear from what he could see through the many branches, white clouds scattered here &amp; there that broke up the deep blue. The rest of the Brotherhood woke gradually. Once they had, fast was broken. Sandor found his horse, a black stallion he had stolen off a Frey soldier after joining the Brotherhood. After untying the horse from a branch, he packed up his bed roll and made sure his saddle bags were carrying everything he would need for the journey to Winterfell.</p>
<p class="western">“Farewell Clegane,” Beric said as Sandor mounted the horse. “Until next time.”</p>
<p class="western">“Don't die again,” Sandor replied, gripping the reins and looking down at the one-eyed man.</p>
<p class="western">“I don't plan to.” They both gave a chuckle.</p>
<p class="western">Sandor put his stirrups into his horse. The stallion trotted through the trees to the dirt track. He followed it through the woodland and across an open field. Eventually, the track bled back into the Kingsroad, but that wasn't until the day was half gone and Sandor felt his arse getting a bit sore from riding so hard. Now on the Kingsroad, he pushed himself North, straight as he could, saying his first prayer to the gods in many long years, <span>“Don't drop snow on me you murderous bastards. Let me get to Winterfell.”</span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A neat fact about this chapter. In early planning I was going to have Sandor as my viewpoint character in the Brotherhood, so he'd be travelling down to Dorne to meet Dany and finally arrive at Winterfell in the Season 8 rewrite where everyone and their mother is going to fight against the wights. But when writing the first draft of this chapter, I wrote that Sandor's main reason for going north was to see Sansa again, so, when the Brotherhood agreed to take Mel to meet Dany, I realised that it wouldn't make much sense that Sandor would agree to go with. As a result, in the final story Sandor travels north alone. That's just something I thought you guys might like to know. A small tidbit about what went into writing this story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Common Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arya arrives in King's Landing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wanted to take a moment to thank Wow_123 &amp; Obviously inparticular for commenting on most chapters. I always look forward to what you guys have to say with each new chapter: Wow with your short &amp; humourous observations and Obviously with the essays you write. Both of you are excellent and whenever the motivation is getting low, rereading your comments gets it back to where it was.</p>
<p>Thank you everyone else who has left comments &amp; kudos and bookmarked the story as well.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>The Common Girl</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">As Arya approached the walls of the capital, she recalled that the last time she'd seen them had been soon after her father had been murdered. <em>It's fitting that I'm returning to see my father avenged. </em>The woods outside the city was being cut down, leaving an open space in front of the walls half populated by tree stumps, half populated by small pits where tree stumps had been removed from the ground. Those pits were being filled in with the snow falling from dark grey clouds that covered the sky. The air was cold and her cheeks were bright pink. The face she wore was that of a common girl with bright red hair. <em>They've heard of the Freys being slaughtered, but they'll be looking for a highborn girl with brown hair.</em></p>
<p class="western">The Dragon Gate was wide open, letting in smallfolk with wagons &amp; wayns, on horseback or on foot. The gate was supported by a tower on either. The city walls were the tallest she'd ever seen, made of beige sandstone and punctuated by more towers that separated every hundred metre stretch of the wall. The top edges of the walls stuck out half a meter, machicolations looked at the ground while above them merlons featuring arrow slits jutted sharply out of the wall. She waited in line like everyone else wishing to enter the city. Guards were posted at the open gate, collecting a toll and inspecting what possession people had on them. When she finally reach the gate, Arya guessed it was about midday.</p>
<p class="western">“Greetings, young lady,” the guard said as her horse walked under the arch.</p>
<p class="western">“Mornin',” Arya replied. Her voice was different because of the face and even now she was not used to it.</p>
<p class="western">“What brings you to the capital today?” His tone was comfortable and polite, that of man who just wanted to his job with as much ease as possible.</p>
<p class="western">“My brother lives in the city and he told me, last I saw him, I could move in with him when winter came,” Arya told him.</p>
<p class="western">Another guard wrote down on a piece of parchment as the first one said, “I hope you don't mind, but I need to check your saddle bags to look for anything suspicious. Standard inspection procedure.”</p>
<p class="western">“By all means.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya dismounted to give the guard an easier time going about his business. He was the only guard posted of the gate not wearing full plate, opting instead for a golden coloured, woolen surcoat over mail and an undertunic. He looked in one bag, then the next, moving from the close side of the horse to the other. He pulled out her purse, felt the weight then handed it to her. He wasn't going to find any of her spare faces because they were sitting in-between her tunic &amp; toros. <em>Uncomfortable, but at least they won't be found unless I'm undressed.</em></p>
<p class="western"><span>The guard finished checking the saddle bags and declared, “All is well.” The other guard wrote down on the parchment again. He walked up to Arya again. “Can I see that sword?” Arya pulled Needle from being tucked between her belt and tunic, holding it out for him to see.</span> The guard flicked his eyes over the blade before asking, “Why does a young girl like you carry a sword?”</p>
<p class="western">“My brother gave to me to...” She dropped head, faking a blush. “My brother gave to me to so I could defend myself if a man got it in his mind to force himself on me.”</p>
<p class="western">The guard smiled and nodded to his partner, who proceeded to write again. “More brothers need to be as good as yours.” He stepped aside, allowing her to climb into her saddle after putting Needle away. “Last thing before you go, the entrance fee is a stag.” Arya pulled a stag from her purse and handed it to the guard. After inspecting the coin, he jerked his head in the direction of the road, “You're free to pass.” Arya gave a nod before facing forward and putting her spurs into horse flesh.</p>
<p class="western">Entering the city filled her ears with the great bustle of people going about their daily lives. The streets were coated in a layer of snow six inches deep being ruined by the footsteps of the city occupants. Workers should have swept it from the streets but very clearly that task had been forgotten. Gold cloaks wearing chainmail, helmets and boiled leather stood at corners while also walking the streets alongside other men dressed in varying styles of armour. None of them took any notice of her: to them she was just a girl on a horse going about her business. Should they bother to stop and ask her what she was doing in the city, she'd tell them the same story she'd told the guard at the gate.</p>
<p class="western">Arya had it in mind to stay in an inn tonight before heading to castle tomorrow. She cantered through the mildly crowded streets, past stalls, stores, homes and taverns. The smaller streets were relatively peaceful with only the odd drunkard making a fool of himself. Her horse breathed steadily as she carried her rider along the road hidden by. It was only when the sound of shattered glass came from the next street did the horse have reason to be perturbed.</p>
<p class="western">A riot was happening in one of the larger streets. Gold cloaks and soldiers of varying armour rushed in from adjacent streets to help control the mass of citizens disturbing the peace. She saw rocks being thrown and soldiers being pushed over. Arya brought her mount to a stop, watching from far off at the side of the street. It was only when a rather young gold cloak came up to her and said, “Young lady, it's best you move off. You may get hurt,” that she decided to bring her horse around and travel in the opposite direction; giving the gold cloak a nod of thanks before doing so.</p>
<p class="western">At a half gallop, Arya moved through smaller streets, making the safe assumption that riots were less likely to occur on them. People made way for her as she travelled the streets. If she were going to get to the Red Keep, she needed to be brisk about getting to that side of the city. Arya slowed her mount as she left a small street that brought her onto the widest street she'd been on since arriving. <em>This could be a major road within the city</em>, Arya thought, before directing her mare to the nearest gold cloak she saw to ask, “Excuse me, what street is this?”</p>
<p class="western">“The Street of the Sister, young lady,” the gold cloak answered in a polite tone.</p>
<p class="western">“And how would I get close to the Red Keep?” Arya followed. “There's a soup shop near it that I'd like to visit again while I'm in the capital.”</p>
<p class="western">The gold cloak smiled and pointed in the direction Arya's horse was facing. “Follow the road that way. You'll come to a large crossroads. Straight ahead will be what's left of the Great Sept. Head down the road that leads directly left, not the one doubling back. It will give you the most direct route to the Red Keep and you can find your soup shop from there.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you,” Arya replied.</p>
<p class="western">“You're welcome. Just be careful, that road has been prone to riots since the Sept was destroyed and you're like to encounter a mob as you get closer and closer to the Red Keep.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'll keep that in mind.”</p>
<p class="western">“I hope you find your soup shop.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya gave the gold cloak a nod before spurring her horse on. The street was near empty, so Arya held no hesitation in reaching a gallop until she reached the crossroads. They were crowded so she had to slow to a canter to avoid running people down. Looking straight ahead she could see where the Great Sept had once stood at the top of Visenya's Hill. Where her father had been beheaded. Now it was a charred, black ruin. She'd heard talk of the Sept having been destroyed at the Twins. Everyone was sure it had been the Queen who'd done it. <em>How could Cersei have managed such a thing?</em> Arya wondered. <em>She managed it, either way. Now I know where to bring Ilyn Payne's head.</em></p>
<p class="western">Arya followed the road leading directly left and saw the Red Keep towering in the distance, high on Aegon's Hill. More people were making for it too. Some walking, some jogging, some running. As Arya got further and further down the road, the more dense the crowd grew, the noise getting louder. She was forced to slow to her canter to a trot. Huddled in front of the gates of the Red Keep was a mass of King's Landing citizens. <em>Looks like I will have to get up exceptionally early if I'm to beat the mob. </em><span>M</span>aneuvering her mare to a side street was difficult because of how people were crowded around her.</p>
<p class="western">On the side street she could move more freely, returning to a cantering pace. Gold cloaks and the soldiers of varying armour moved in the opposite direction to help break up the mob wanting to get into the Red Keep. <em>So this is the result of Cersei's destruction of the Sept. How could that bitch be so stupid as to not realise that the people of King's Landing would hate her even more for destroying the crowning symbol of the gods they follow. It would be as if Father had decided to take an axe to the Weirwood tree in the Godswood. The castle would think him mad and have him thrown in the castle dungeon.</em></p>
<p class="western">She slowed to a trot, entering a smaller, quieter street. Few people were walking along it and no gold cloaks were in evidence. She saw a sign hanging from a post, the top covered in snow and ice, wearing away the wood. The sign read 'The Great Stag' in large letters; below that 'Inn for Travellers' was written in smaller letters. Arya dismounted and walked her mount by the reins, feet crunching through the snow. The inn was modest in size and reaching it revealed an alley way to the right of it which led to a small stable. The stableboy, who looked to be the age of fourteen, was pushing snow out of the wooden doors as Arya came to a stop.</p>
<p class="western">“Excuse me?” she said to catch the boy's attention. “I would like to sell my horse.”</p>
<p class="western">The boy stopped shoveling snow and replied: “I'd have to fetch the Inn Keep.”</p>
<p class="western">“I can wait.” The boy gave a nod and was off, leaving Arya alone with her horse. She took her's mount's head in-between both hands. “Thank you for bringing me here. You've been a good companion.” The mare whinnied softly and Arya placed a kiss on her nose. It was then that the stableboy returned with the Inn Keep.</p>
<p class="western">“So you want to sell your horse?” he inquired. The stableboy returned to what he'd been doing.</p>
<p class="western">“I do.”</p>
<p class="western">“How long have you had her?”</p>
<p class="western">“Just over a week. I brought her in Lord Harroway's for the journey down here. I rode her softly until the last day for fear of the snow kicking up.”</p>
<p class="western">“How much d'ya pay for her in Harroway's?”</p>
<p class="western">“Five stags,” she lied: it had been three stags and the horse she'd stolen near the Twins. The Inn Keep took the reins and gave the mare a look. He walked around the brown steed's body to try to make a guess of what he'd be willing to pay. “She's been a good horse. Never got temperamental when I pushed her onward.”</p>
<p class="western">“Aye, she looks it.” The Inn Keep finished his walk around and looked Arya in the eyes. “I'll give ya four stags and seven groats. How does that sound?”</p>
<p class="western">“How about four stags and a bowl of good stew?”</p>
<p class="western">The Inn Keep gave her wry smile and a hearty chuckle. “Aye. Ya've got yourself a deal.” He shook her firmly by the hand then pulled out the four silvers they'd agreed upon. Arya put them in her purse and walked with the Inn Keep after retrieving her saddle bags. “Now what would a young girl like ya be doing in King's Landing alone?”</p>
<p class="western">“My brother works as a man-at-arms in the Red Keep. I've come to visit him.”</p>
<p class="western">“I doubt you'd get in there with the mobs that have been gathering at the gates recently.”</p>
<p class="western">“I still have to try. I haven't seen my brother in years and I only just recently was allowed to come here by my father.”</p>
<p class="western">“I understand,” he offered. “Family's all people have these days.” They entered though the inn's front door. The entrance hall doubled up as the dinning area. “Will ya be wanting a room?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. I'll be heading to the Keep tomorrow. I'm going to try to beat the mob.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well.” he gestured to the several empty tables. “Take a seat and I'll get ya that bowl of good stew.”</p>
<p class="western">“Will you mind if I sharpen my sword?”</p>
<p class="western">“By all means.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya took a seat as the Inn Keep disappeared through a door to what she guess was the kitchens. She pulled out Needle from her belt and a whetstone from her saddle bags. She ran the stone along the thin steel, the grind of it a satisfying sound. She would take good care of this steel. When Arya finally returned to Winterfell, she'd show Jon how well she'd treated it and he'd muss her hair and say, “Well done, little sister.” A tear came to her eye thinking about him. <em>I'm coming home Jon. Once I'm finished here, I'm coming home.</em></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>There was a group of three young men in the dinning area. They had mugs of ale and thick voices, speaking of how awful life had been since the Sept was 'blown to hell' and 'that whore' had been crowned Queen. They questioned how any of 'those highborn fuckers' could still take her seriously after she'd been made to walk through the city 'with her cunt on show.' Arya put it together that Cersei's reason for destroying the Sept was because she'd been punished by the faith. She thought to herself, </span>
  <em>Don't worry you lot. I'll rid you of this terrible Queen.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">The Inn Keep emerged from the same door he'd disappeared into; now holding a bowl of good stew. When he placed it in front of her, she was surprised to see how much meat was floating in the broth. Partnered with the meat was onions, carrots and what she guessed was turnip. “Now that looks like a good bowl of stew,” Arya commented. Placing Needle &amp; the whetstone by her saddle bags, she took the spoon that accompanied the bowl and started to eat.</p>
<p class="western">“That looks like good steel,” the Inn Keep observed. “Can I hold it?” Arya gestured with her free hand and the Inn Keep took Needle into his. “My, my. How did a young girl like ya get such good steel?”</p>
<p class="western">“My brother sent it to me as a nameday gift with a note saying 'If boys your age try to take you without asking, stick'em with the pointy end,'” Arya lied after swallowing a mouthful. The Inn Keep placed Needle back down.</p>
<p class="western">“Your brother sounds like a good one.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya smiled. “He is. And I can't wait to see him again.” She didn't have to fake the happiness in her tone or the smile her lips curled into.</p>
<p class="western">“What's his name?”</p>
<p class="western">“Jon.”</p>
<p class="western">The Inn Keep hummed. “Common name that is.”</p>
<p class="western">“It is. I heard the new King in the North is a Jon.”</p>
<p class="western">“He is.” He chuckled, the spoke in a quiet voice. “I don't blame him for making the North independent, I have to say. I'd name myself king of 'The Great Stag' if it meant I wasn't ruled by Cersei.” His face went into thought before he finally finished off. “I won't bore ya anymore. Enjoy your stew and I hope ya see your brother. I'll take good care of that mare ya brought me and make sure I find her a good owner.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you.” The Inn Keep gave a curt nod and went off into a different door.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Arya finished her stew then ordered a mug of ale. As she drank her ale, she continued to think. </span>
  <em>If Jon's King in the North, I must be a Princess.</em>
  <span> She smiled at the thought. </span>
  <em>An assassin Princess. Now that's one for the songs Sansa liked so much. </em>
  <span>Her mug emptied and the sun disappeared. Arya found the Inn Keep and organised a room for the night. It had a straw mattress and thick duvet that served to keep her warm &amp; comfortable for the night. Before crawling into bed, she pulled the faces out from under her tunic and stuffed them in her saddle bags.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">She woke early in the morning, long before first light, deciding not to linger for breakfast at the inn. Venturing outside, soft snow fell quickly. The red hair of the face she was wearing soon had a white crown of snow flakes. Arya pulled her cloak tight and had her saddle bags hoisted over her shoulder. Each step she took disturbed the blanket only to have the foot print filled in soon after. Arya counted only one other person walking the streets as she followed the route she'd taken from the main road yesterday.</p>
<p class="western">A mob had yet to form in front of the gates of the Red Keep. Guarding them were four gold cloaks and four Lannister guardsmen standing in front of them. The gates were tall, thick and made of oak, supported by iron grids &amp; studs fixed into the wood. Arya approached the gates gingerly. One of the Lannister men lent her his attention. When she was five meters from him, the guardsman asked, “What do you want, young lady?” He spoke softly and curtly, with no sense of malice in his tone.</p>
<p class="western">“I was wondering if it was possible to get work as a maid in the Keep,” she answered, faking nervousness.</p>
<p class="western">The guardsman frowned. “I'm afraid that's not possible, young lady. Her Grace has ordered the gates shut while rabble continues to force its way to the gates. I cannot allow you entry, even if you are looking for work.”</p>
<p class="western">“Please,” Arya begged holding her hands out in front of her, fingers interlaced. “I have nowhere else to go. My father and mother died in the war. I have no other family that I know of. I have experience as a serving maid. I served as in a holdfast before it was abandoned. That's why I'm here now. Please, Ser?” The guardsmen listened to all of it with the same expression, never interrupting. He sighed once she finished.</p>
<p class="western">“I'm sorry, but I can't let you in.”</p>
<p class="western">“What d'ya mean y' can't,” said another guardsman in Lannister armour who was standing on the ramparts above the gate. He was considerably younger than all eight men on the ground. From what Arya could see, brown hair was poking out the bottom of his helmet, long &amp; lanky. “That serving maid slipped and broke her neck last week. The Keep's down a wench. Letting this one in to replace her won't do any 'arm.”</p>
<p class="western">The guardsman in front of Arya looked up at the guardsman on the ramparts, then back at Arya. He sighed again. “I'm going to get in trouble for this,” he muttered, before giving the command to open the gate. The hinges screamed as the doors were pulled open, the snow that had built up against the bottom of them fell backwards. Arya was escorted inside the gate. “Do you have a name?”</p>
<p class="western">“Sara.”</p>
<p class="western">“That one who just got you into the castle is called Clout. I don't know why. I think it has something to with the fact his brother was always clouting him round the ear as a boy.” Looking at the top of the arch, Arya saw the spikes of a raised portcullis and murder holes where burning pitch be dropped from. Clout appeared from his place on the ramparts, descending a set of stairs. The guardsman from outside the gate told him, “Get her to Barbara. She's the supervisor who that maid had served under.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, Ser,” Clout answered. The guardsman returned outside the gate before ordering it closed. Clout looked to Arya, “If you would follow me.”</p>
<p class="western">Arya followed the man named Clout. <em>I'm another step closer to home.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Cersei I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A weapon for fighting dragons is demonstrated and Cersei speaks to the Iron Bank.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Cersei</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Cersei woke alone. Her double bed was too big for its own good, making her think about how few friends she had left in the world, despite the fact she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She'd hoped that Jaime would join her in bed every night when he returned from the siege of Riverrun, but she couldn't even propose it before he scolded her for Tommen's suicide, claiming she was the one responsible for it. Ever since then their relationship was uneasy and she hate it. The only other person she spoke to regularly now was Qyburn, but they never discussed anything that wasn't about ruling Westeros. Greyjoy advised her, but spent his days at the dock yards, building his ships. The lords still loyal to her remained in their castles and holdfasts, keeping to them and theirs now that winter had begun.</p>
<p class="western">She could tell all the handmaids who attended her after the Great Sept had been destroyed hated her. It was unbearable, so Cersei resigned to get rid of them all, leaving her to dress by herself each day. Her nightgown was smooth, red silk decorated by golden thread designs. It slid over the top of her the top of her body, quiet as a whisper. Underneath her dress but above her smallclothes, Cersei wore a thin shirt of mail; too thin to stop a sword but certainly capable of protecting against daggers and dirks. The dress she chose was made of red wool slashed with cloth-of-gold, the sleeves embroidered with a hundred golden lions.</p>
<p class="western">Duck eggs and wine were how she broke her fast, looking upon the city of King's Landing and thinking to herself, <em>This is my city now. Not Roberts, not Joffrey's, not Tommen's. Mine.</em><span> She chuckled to herself. </span><em>And it's full of people I despise.</em><span> It had not surprised her when the smallfolk of the city had begun to riot after the Sept was destroyed. She had gotten rid of any threat to Tommen's rule from inside the Seven Kingdoms by doing it and in return the gods had decided to repay Cersei with the death of her last child, an unruly population and two new threats to her own crown: t</span>he Dragon Queen who had now landed in Dorne and the North naming Ned Stark's bastard their King.</p>
<p class="western">In truth, she wasn't surprised her offer to Jon Snow was met with silence. <em>Such a thing I should have expected from a traitor's bastard. </em><span>It wasn't him being King that perturbed her the most however, it was his she-wolf sister being alive, happy and a princess. Cersei sneered just thinking of the Stark bitch.</span> Sipping her red wine, Cersei thought of all the different ways she'd torture the she-wolf. But that was unlikely to happen now. Assassins had been asked to venture North and all refused. <em>No one wants to head North with all this snow. </em><span>It angered </span>Cersei to no end that she was powerless to do anything about the northern treachery. That left only the Dragon Queen for her to deal with for the nonce.</p>
<p class="western">Placing her wine glass down, Cersei left her solar. Ser Gregor stood without, wearing white enameled plate armour over his enormous body and standing so still, one would not be foolish should they mistake him for a statue. He was the tall shadow that followed her throughout the Red Keep and the only person she could be confident would never betray her. <em>It's sad I can't even say that about my own brother.</em></p>
<p class="western">Cersei walked the corridors of the Red Keep, descending from one floor to the next. Today Qyburn was showing her the piece of weaponry that he had designed to combat the dragons that came with the Dragon Queen. He devised plans for the weapon when first he knew their departure from Mereen, knowing full well that the Dragon Queen was seeking to retake the Iron Throne for her family. It would be necessary to have if Greyjoy's horn didn't work or if the horn worked only for him to betray the alliance between Lannister and Greyjoy. She was not going to risk losing her crown to a Greyjoy.</p>
<p class="western">Work on Qyburn's weapon was done in the chamber Robert had placed the dragon skulls in after removing them from the throne room. It made sense. With all those skulls, Qyburn had ample amount of targets to practice the weapon on. He'd promised not to call her until he'd made significant progress in the development of the weapon, so Cersei walked the corridors with a growing anticipation. As she walked the lower floors of the Keep, she could not help but notice a particular maid who was on her knees, scrubbing the floors in a passing corridor. Easily low born. The only reason Cersei noticed her was the colour of her hair: a burning red done up in a short pony tail. It reminded Cersei of the she-wolf and immediately made her despise the maid.</p>
<p class="western">Entering the skull chamber, she found it large and cluttered. The jet black skulls were intimidating and varied in size, though some dented and damaged from the tests Qyburn put his weapon through. When they were alive, the dragons would have all been capable of incredible destruction. Thinking about it made Cersei both eager and apprehensive about the Dragon Queen arriving. When Euron Greyjoy used his horn, binding the draongs to him, Cersei would be free to command how they were used. Reached the weapon, she found Qyburn standing with it, his black robes faded by the years and a hand pin made of silver hanging on his collar.</p>
<p class="western">“Your Grace,” the Queen's Hand said, standing in front of a large scorpion crossbow. “After many attempts and different designs, myself and the various blacksmiths, carpenters and weapon experts I employed have finally finished the weapon that we can use against Daenerys Targaryen's dragons.” Cersei walked around the weapon, admiring the craftsmanship. The wood was fire hardened oak, the metal work done with black iron and steel. It was the size of two carriages placed one in front of the other.</p>
<p class="western">“Can you please demonstrate?” Cersei asked coming to the rear of the weapon where the person using it would stand.</p>
<p class="western">Qyburn joined her and began to rotate the spoked, crank wheels on either side of the main shaft of the weapon. On both the top &amp; bottom of the shaft were two drawstrings made of hempen rope threaded through chain links pulled backwards by hooks. Once brought to the end of their rails, the hooks locked in place and Qyburn removed a steel bolt stored in a nearby case to place it in the main channel on the top of the shaft, the bolt being the size of a short spear. Returning to the operator's position, Qyburn gripped the two handles at the end of the shaft to aim it. His fingers pulled on two small release handles positioned inside the main handles in a way that meant someone couldn't accidentally loose the weapon. The bolt went along the shaft before flying into a dragon skull, the drawstring making cracking sound as it snapped forward along the shaft. The bolt protruded from the right side of the skull's jaw and the tip had made it clean through to the left side. Another bolt had already punctured the same skull.</p>
<p class="western">Cersei smirk. “Excellent work, Lord Qyburn,” she congratulated with a soft voice. “How long do you expect it will take to outfit every tower lining the walls of King's Landing with one of these?”</p>
<p class="western">“Some time I'm afraid. The Dragon Queen would certainly reach the city before all the towers could be fitted with a scorpion.”</p>
<p class="western">“The Dragon Queen will be coming from the South, so begin outfitting every tower between the Red Keep and King's Gate before the towers between the King's Gate and the Gate of the Gods.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well, Your Grace.”</p>
<p class="western">“Have your spies reported any fresh news?”</p>
<p class="western">“Two particular pieces caught my attention. The first, Brandon Stark, Lord Eddard's second trueborn son, is alive.”</p>
<p class="western">“I thought Theon Greyjoy burned him and Rickon Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“That appears not to be the case. Brandon Stark has been seen at Winterfell and Rickon Stark was mentioned as part of the Battle of the Bastard. He was slain by Ramsay Bolton at the beginning of the battle as a means to anger his enemy.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei huffed. “And the second piece of news.”</p>
<p class="western">“Every ship in White Harbour has sailed south and made port on Dragonstone. They have been joined by ships from the Vale that have come out of Gulltown.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei seethed. “Was this done on the orders of Jon Snow?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, Your Grace. He is a Stark now as well.”</p>
<p class="western">“I know Lord Qyburn. I will not humour him by accepting that he's been legitimised.”</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, Your Grace. My apologies.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei exhaled. “What could that boy want with the fortress?” she wondered angrily.</p>
<p class="western">“Would you like me to have one of my spies infiltrate the island to find out?”</p>
<p class="western">“No. I will ask Greyjoy to visit the island personally. I want Jon Snow to know I have the most feared captain from the Iron Islands as an ally. Perhaps that will convince him to bend the knee.”</p>
<p class="western">“Your Grace, I do not wish to question your judgement, but the reports I'm receiving from my northern spies all mention that Jon Stark is uninterested in taking the Iron Throne and instead is setting his sights North to defend against White Walkers.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei could not help but laugh. “Is the boy still drinking milk from the teat of his wet nurse? The White Walkers are nothing but a story told to disobedient children to scare them.”</p>
<p class="western">“It would seem to be the opposite, Your Grace. Apparently they are a very real threat. Not only does Jon Stark claim they exist, but the wildlings he let past the Wall as well. The northern lords believe them.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do you know where Jon Snow is now? Is he on Dragonstone? If he is, I would meet him half way across the Blackwater to get a grasp of his character.”</p>
<p class="western">Qyburn shook his head. “Jon Stark remains in the North, Your Grace. He is transporting prisoners to the Wall from what my spies have told me, leaving his sister in charge of ruling the kingdom in his absences.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei sneered, then let the sneer soften. “Keep your spies listening for more information about these White Walkers. I will order Greyjoy to take a single ship to Dragonstone under a peace banner so that we may find out why Jon Snow has taken the fortress.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why a single ship my Queen?”</p>
<p class="western">“He very clearly doesn't want to fight a war with us. The last thing I want to do is antagonise him, but I'm sure his sister has been whispering in his ear to achieve that already.”</p>
<p class="western">“If your intention is to gain his alligance, it might be a good decision to invite him south with full promise of his safety?”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei shook her head. “He would never agree to move past the Neck. Besides, the she-wolf will convince him every attempt I make to gain his acquaintance is an attempt to have his head.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well, Your Grace. You should also know that Lord Jaime is close to arriving at the Twins.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. The sooner he finds Arya Stark, the sooner I have some leverage against the North.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei left the skull chamber, followed by the Mountain, making the return journey up to the higher floors of the Red Keep to her study. A chill crept through the glass windows, so she added more fuel to the two braziers she had heating the room. <em>This castle and this city were not built for winter.</em> Ser Gregor stood behind her as Cersei wrote upon parchment and read letters. When she came across the one from the Lord Commander of the City Watch, begging for more soldiers to be devoted to aid the guarding of the city, she chuckled and tossed it aside. <em>Let them tear each other apart. It means less mouths to feed this winter. </em><span>Some time into to her work, a steward knocked on the door.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Yes,” Cersei answered.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The steward entered and stood at ease to say, “Tycho Nestoris has arrived and begs audience, Your Grace.”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“Send him in,” Cersei told the steward, who nodded then withdrew. Nestoris soon walked in, holding a number of record books in the crook of his arm. He wore a thick, black woolen doublet and breeches. His brown hair was receding. “Lord Tycho, it is good of you to visit King's Landing,” Cersei welcomed him.</p>
<p class="western">“Please, Your Grace, I am no Lord,” Nestoris corrected. “If you must refer to me with any title, 'Master' would be the most appropriate.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well Master Tycho. I would like to begin by thanking you for accepting my invitation.”</p>
<p class="western">“There is no thanks necessary, Your Grace. Clearly you intend to finally pay the debt that the Iron Bank is owed so there was no reason to not accept.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well. Might I ask how much the Iron Throne owes the Iron Bank?”</p>
<p class="western">“A considerable amount.” He opened the second largest of the three book and flipped to the last page with any writing upon it. “The equivilent to three and a half million dragons.”</p>
<p class="western">“With interest included?”</p>
<p class="western">“With interest included.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then you will be pleased to hear that the debt will soon be paid. In a few days, a force of men loyal to the Iron Throne is set to fall upon the castle of Highgarden. If all goes well, they should be returning to the city with all the gold that the Tyrells have locked within their vaults. Once it reaches the city, those three and a half million dragons are yours.”</p>
<p class="western">Master Tycho had been smiling since he entered the room, only now did the smile turn into a frown. He sighed. “I'm afraid that is not good enough, Your Grace. We at the Iron bank prefer when investments are predictable. Your seige of Highgarden may last a considerable amount of time and even then, you do not know how much money is stored in those vaults. I very much doubt Olenna Tyrell would have her family's entire wealth undefended.”</p>
<p class="western">“It isn't undefended. A garrison has been left at the castle.”</p>
<p class="western">Nestoris left out a breath. “A garrison? A hundred good soldiers can reek havoc on any attacking force from a modest castle or keep and you think a decently sized garrison is going to be defeated by how many soldiers?”</p>
<p class="western">“Six thousand,” Cersei answered with a reserved anger. <em>I invite you into my home and you think to lecture me.</em></p>
<p class="western">Nestoris' frown deepened. “I intend to stay in the Red Keep while you wait for your army to return and see if they deliver the gold you need to pay your debt. But know this, the only reason the Iron Bank is humouring you is because the money to pay off your debt is within your grasp. That doesn't change the fact that you have three dragons coming from Dorne to attack this city and there are northmen on Dragonstone.”</p>
<p class="western">“The King in the North has no interest in starting a war, so I have no interest in antagonising him while winter is here and the dragons you mention to deal with. The Dragon Queen is the only threat that you need concern yourself with.”</p>
<p class="western">“What plans do you have to defend yourself against these dragons, Your Grace? It would greatly help us make a decision in whether or not we continue business with you after we receive your payment, if we receive your payment.”</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy has a horn in his possession that binds dragons to the horn's master. When the Dragon Queen is close, he will have it blown. If it does not work, we are in the process of outfitting our city walls with scorpions that can pierce dragon bone.”</p>
<p class="western">Tycho looked down at his book, closed it. “Should I receive your payment, that will be most appreciated. I will return to Braavos with all haste so that me and my associates can finally settle your debt. After that, we will only work with the Iron Throne once the conflict between you and Daenerys Tagaryen is at an end; and then our business will be with whoever sits it afterwards. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Fitting your head for a spike perhaps. </em>
  <span>“No, you are excused.” The braavosi banker nodded, stood and left the room, carrying all his books. </span>
  <em>If you don't accept the payment, you will find yourself living in a black cell.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Green Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Highgarden is attacked.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BTW, Dickon in this rewrite is Dickon Mk. II from the offical Season 7, in case of you wanted to know.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>The Green Boy</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The outriders returned to the encampment at first light, thundering north along the Rose Road, kicking up snow from the ground. Dickon was breaking his fast with his father and Ser Addam Marband – the commander in charge of the Lannister men sent to help take Highgarden – eating the flesh of a rabbit that had been cooked over a fire on a spit. The twenty horsemen came to a stop in front of the two largest tents in the camp: one for Dickon &amp; his father, the other for Ser Addam. Lord Randyll stood – hearing the hoof beats – and he was followed outside by his son &amp; Ser Addam.</p>
<p class="western">“We spotted more men on the ramparts than the number we were expecting,” Ser Tanton said, who wore all his armour save the helmet; the Fossoway knight had commanded the vanguard since Cider Hall. “We know that the castle was occupied only by a token garrison before Ser Jaime ordered us to attack the castle, but it seems they caught wind of our movement and called upon the petty lords &amp; landed knights close by to build their numbers.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll's frown deepened. “Anything else?” he asked.</p>
<p class="western">“The extra men are the only change to what we were expecting. They've had no time to sure up any of their other defenses besides digging a dry moat around the outer wall that can't be more than three meters wide. We couldn't tell how deep it was because the snow has filled most of it in.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well. Ser Tanton, get your men rested and fed. I am giving the command to move to the castle in an hour, but you have leave to be amoung the last to move.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you, My Lord.”</p>
<p class="western">That hour turned out to somehow be both the longest and shortest hour of Dickon's life. During it, he trained with some of his father's own men-at-arms, making sure that his swordplay was up to scratch, should the seige turn to swords. The clash of blunt steel was the only sound that he heard. All throughout the night since they stopped to make camp, men had been hard at work preparing what seige equipment they could: ladders and turtles. No battering rams were being built since Highgarden's three gatehouses were closed off by a portcullis made of thick steel bars.</p>
<p class="western">When Father finally gave the order to mount up and move off, Dickon felt his stomach fall down to his feet. <em>This is it. My first taste of being a soldier. </em>He pulled himself onto his horse and joined Father in setting off. Ser Addam was harrying his men to mount up &amp; move off, bellowing commands as loud as his lungs would allow. Outriders had gone ahead of them, their tracks evident in the snow covering the Rose Road: their riding ahead would break the blanket apart and make it easier for the rest of the army to follow.</p>
<p class="western">Since Cider Hall, the snow only seemed to get heavier, barely a day going by where it wasn't falling. The sun had become nothing more than the brightest patch of clouds in the sky, only ever showing itself when the snow stopped and the clouds broke apart. Light from the red comet managed to bleed through the clouds, getting brighter each day and slowing creeping its way north. <em>Lord Fossoway thought it might be sign from the Old Gods. What could they want?</em></p>
<p class="western">Since they had met up with Ser Addam and his four thousand men, their pace had slowed. That fact held true now. With Ser Addam had also come a conversation concerning Queen Cersei. When first they met up, the commander of the Lannister forces and Lord Randyll talked about how the Queen on the Iron Throne was proving to be inspiring no loyalty. The lords of the Crownlands and Narrow Sea had yet to arrive at King's Landing to swear fealty. In fact the only houses that had come to swear fealty in person had been those whoes men Ser Jaime had called to help the City Watch keep the peace.</p>
<p class="western">“Everyone knows she destroyed the Sept,” Ser Addam said. “They may claim to be loyal to her in words, but their actions reveal where their hearts truly lie. I expect when the Dragon Queen final arrives at King's Landing, we'll be seeing her numbers bolstered by those who sitting in their keeps and have sworn fealty with a raven scroll.”</p>
<p class="western">“And where do you stand on the matter, Ser Addam?” Lord Randyll asked.</p>
<p class="western">“My loyalty is to Jaime Lannister. He is his father's heir and the Lord of Casterly Rock. His loyalty to the Queen comes only because she is his sister. I would not be sursprised if he decided to remove her from the Iron Throne and take it for himself to simply put a competent ruler on it.”</p>
<p class="western">Listening to all this, Dickon was worrying whether or not it would be right to agree with Ser Addam. It was what he wanted to do, but he feared it would be treason to do so. But then Father anwsered for him, “Should Ser Jaime ask for extra swords to do such a thing, all he need do is ask me. I remain loyal to Cersei only because she is the only ruler who could be a threat to me and mine for the nonce. Were Ser Jaime to claim the thrown, I would swear him my sword in an instant.”</p>
<p class="western">They crossed the Mander to find its edges icing over, a reasonably thick sheet that streched a meter or so into the river from either side. Looking south over the snow-covered fields, Highgarden sat on the horizon, getting bigger with every hoof Dickon's horse placed on the ground. Before the snow had fallen, those fields were the colour of lush green, populated by hundreds of flowers blooming with all the colours of a rainbow. Trees that had once stood tall with great manes of deep green leaves now stood with bare branches, snow lying on every stable surface.</p>
<p class="western">Even from far off and coated with snow, Highgarden remained a sight to behold, sitting on a wide &amp; shallow hill. Three thick walls of white stone sat defending the castle, each taller than the one before: the first at the base of the hill, the second half way up and the last surrounded the multiple keeps &amp; towers sitting on the flat summit. Battlements lined all three, small towers separating every hundred meters of wall. In-between the first two walls was an enormous briar maze: to guests it served as a form of entertainment, but to attackers it was an obstacle that slowed the approach to the middle wall. <em>Father will have it set alight, but the snowmelt will make the hedges and thorns damp. There will be more smoke than flame.</em> Two squares towers sat at the centre of the main collection of keeps &amp; towers inside the third wall; supposedly having been built during the Age of Heros, they were the oldest parts of the castle. The other buildings of the castle were much younger, having been built after Aegon's Conquest. Roofed with green tinted, gold tiles that were hidden by the snow, they stood tall and slender, over taking their older neighbours in height. Regardless of how many times Dickon saw Highgarden, it always filled him with awe. <em>And now I have to help lay seige to it.</em></p>
<p class="western"><span>They came upon the castle to find their outriders circling it to trample the blanket of snow ready for the encampment. Six thousand men began to spread out around the castle, dismounting before getting to work putting up tents and setting seige lines. Dickon remained with his Father and Ser Addam as they circled the castle themselves, observing the men atop the battlements and getting a judge of what the defenses were like. </span><em>An archer could get lucky and loose an arrow at Father or Ser Addam, getting rid of the command. </em><span>But that fear went unfulfilled as they came to the front of the castle again and moved away from it to where their tents were being set up in the encampment. </span>Once there, the three of them dismounted. A table and maps had been moved out of a carriage for the use of the seige commanders. The corners of the map were held down by miscellaneous objects.</p>
<p class="western">“That dry moat is the only extra defense they've bothered to prepare,” Lord Randyll said, tracing his finger around the outer wall on the map of Highgarden on the table. “We need to know how deep it is. We'll also need to build platforms we can place over the snow, dispersing the weight of soldiers so they don't fall through it.”</p>
<p class="western">“We'll never have enough platforms to cross the moat all around the wall,” Dickon put in. “The soldiers on top of it will be able to focus the points of the wall that we decide to send ladders up.” A smile perked on Father's lips for a fraction of a second. “We'll need to force them to split their focus so our men don't get swarmed the moment they reach the battlements.”</p>
<p class="western">“How do you propose we do that, Dickon?” Ser Addam asked, eyes studying.</p>
<p class="western">Pointing accordingly, Dickon explained, “We send men with climbing spikes all around the wall while at the men climbing the walls with ladders are close to the gatehouse. The defenders will be forced to spread out along the entire wall in order to deal with the men climbing the wall with spikes, otherwise they'll be taken in the rear.” He waited a moment, wondering if the two older men would follow after him. They didn't, so Dickon went on. “Of course, this doesn't have to come to swords immediately. We can parley with whoever's in charge, offering them surrender so that our men &amp; their men don't need to die.”</p>
<p class="western">“You're right,” Lord Randyll agreed. “The camp will be mostly in place by this afternoon. That's when you, myself, Ser Addam and Ser Tanton will hold parley with whoever has been left in charge of the castle. By rights, Highgarden should go to Lord Mace's sister, Lady Mina, but she is down in the Arbor, wife to Paxter Redwyn.”</p>
<p class="western">“It's possible Lord Mace's uncle Garth is in charge of the castle for the nonce,” Ser Addam said. “He is Lord Seneschal of the castle and could be holding it while Lady Mina makes her way here.”</p>
<p class="western">“We will find out when we hold the parley,” Father said.</p>
<p class="western">The rest of the morning went by much like the hour between breaking fast and mounting up had that morning: somehow seeming to stretch out for eternity &amp; passing in the blink of an eye at the same time. Dickon sparred, going a few rounds with his Father and Ser Addam. Lunch was a thick barley stew washed down with thin ale, the last of the broth mopped up with bread. Soon after lunch, a squire entered their tent to tell Lord Randyll that the Castellan of Highgarden was ready to receive them. Dickon, his Father, Ser Addam and Ser Tanton mounted up, riding to the front gate of Highgarden with four banner bearers. The banners they carried were the Tarly Huntsman, the Red Apple of the Cider Hall Fossoways, the burning tree of Marband and the lion of Lannister.</p>
<p class="western">Dickon watched as the steel portcullis rose in its archway, the rattle &amp; grind of the steel chains loud even with the fifty meters between him and the gatehouse. Through crenels, he saw archers standing ready with arrows already notched but not drawn; Dickon fingered the pommel of his sword hilt. Five men rode out from under the archway: one bearing a banner of the Tyrell rose, three men-at-arms and the Castellan of Highgarden. Dickon recognised him. Ser Vortimer Crane was Highgarden's master-at-arms, a comely man of middle age with a receding hairline. He and his men brought their horses to a stop ten meters from Dickon's group.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Randyll,” Ser Vortimer began. “I must say, it is surprising to see you here as an attacker. I would of expected you to remain loyal to your liege lord.”</p>
<p class="western">“Doing so would mean breaking faith with the Iron Throne,” Lord Randyll replied. “I have no shame in saying that I would rather remain loyal to the Tyrells, but as it stands, I fear what Cersei might do if I broke faith with her.”</p>
<p class="western">“Is that the same for the rest of you?” Vortimer asked. No one responded. Vortimer sighed. “My Lords, you needn't follow her. The Lady Olenna is travelling North as we speak and has confirmed that the Dragon Queen is accurately named. What do you think Cersei can do to you that is worse than being burned alive by dragons?”</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyoy has a horn he claims that can bind dragons to his will,” Ser Addam told Ser Vortimer. “And if you must know, I am loyal to Ser Jaime Lannsiter, not Cersei. He is the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock and I swore my fealty to him. If he chooses to remain loyal to his siter, that is what I must do.”</p>
<p class="western">Ser Vortimer nodded. “I understand you are doing only what has been ordered of you, My Lords. I must do the same.”</p>
<p class="western">“This need not come to swords,” Dickon spoke up. “Winter is here, food is scarce. We can work together to survive. Your stores could be used to feed people in all the kingdoms loyal to the Iron Throne if you were to surrender.”</p>
<p class="western">Vortimer observed him curiously. “I recognise you, lad,” the knight said. “You've been here before. Judging by the huntsman on your chest plate, I would say you are Lord Randyll's son Dickon.”</p>
<p class="western">“I am.”</p>
<p class="western">“And this is your first of military experience, isn't it?”</p>
<p class="western">“It is.”</p>
<p class="western">Vortimer smiled sadly. “I would love for this to not end with swords. I would love to be able to share the food we have stored with those who need it, but I am honour bound to obey the orders given to me by those who I've sworn my loyalty to. The Lady Olenna told me to hold this castle until the Lady Mina arrives from the Arbor, so that is what I'll do. There will be no surrender. My Lords, the only way this will not end in swords is if you have the good grace to leave us be until our rightful liege is here. You are welcome to remain here peacefully for her to arrive. Lord Randyll, Ser Tanton, you be allowed to swear fealty once again to House Tyrell. It is not too late.”</p>
<p class="western">“That cannot happen, Ser,” Lord Randyll said. “We are honour bound to follow the orders given to us by Ser Jaime, so that is what we must do.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well. At the very least, give us until first light tomorrow before you loose your first arrow. There are smallfolk we are looking after that we have yet to get into a safe place for the duration of our fighting.”</p>
<p class="western">“You have my word. No attack will be made before first light tomrrow, but that is only for the safety of your smallfolk and only if you do us the same curtesy.”</p>
<p class="western">Vortimer nodded. “Thank you, My Lord. May the Father judge you justly for your kindness.”</p>
<p class="western">The two parties turned their horses before riding away. Lord Randyll came alongside Dickon, matching the trot that his horse was riding at. “Why do you think I accepted his terms of not attacking?” Lord Randyll asked, not unkindly.</p>
<p class="western">“By accepting, he was honour bound to do the same. The men on the walls aren't allowed to attack the men we will have altering the moat to make it easier for our men to climb ladders,” Dickon answered confidently. Father smiled.</p>
<p class="western">The rest of the day was spent planning the attack. They would begin by climbing the outer wall with ladders close to the gatehouse and with climbing spikes around the rest of the wall. The men who managed to scale the wall near the gatehouse would then capture it to raise the portcullis, allowing the army to pass through. The inner edge of the wall lacked ramparts, so men on the outer wall would be vulnerable to arrows from the second wall. To combat this, once the first gatehouse was open, the only men on the outer wall would be those defending the gatehouse from leftover Tyrell men. Every other man would be underneath turtles travelling to the second wall. The maze would be cut down with axes close to the second gatehouse and ladders would be placed up against the wall again, meanwhile the men who'd ascended the wall with climbing spikes would do their best to get the maze burning. After that, the only obstacle between the second &amp; last wall would be the arrows being loosed from the centre wall.</p>
<p class="western">That night, Dickon found it difficult to sleep. Try as he might, all he could achieve was the blackness that came from shutting his eyes. Tossing and turning, images of what could happen on the morrow filled his mind. He was also bothered that while he was lying there on his straw mattress, warmed by the brazier sitting underneath the smoke hole, men were up against the castle wall, shivering from the cold, making the moat easier to cross. The wooden platforms had been built and the plan was to bury them underneath a layer of snow so that the men on the wall could not simply drop a torch to set them alight.</p>
<p class="western">When sleep did eventually come, in was restless and uneasy. He dreamed of dead men slamming against a castle wall. Dickon assumed they were the men attacking Highgarden: their deaths all but certain. But the castle was not Highgarden. The walls were made of grey stone, the tower rooves made of wood. The moat was dry, but it was burning with green flame and wasn't right up against the castle wall. He was standing on one of the gatehouse towers, looking at the men throwing themselves carelessly into the fire. The only sigil he remembered seeing was a white wolf and a black dragon together on a grey field; the wolf howling, the dragon breathing fire.</p>
<p class="western"><span>Dickon woke to his Father shaking his shoulder. First light had yet to come and they broke their fast on bacon and bread fried in bacon grease.</span> They drank water. Afterwards, the pair of them donned their armour before stepping outside to mount up. Dickon's own helm had a visor that could be opened and closed while Lord Randyll's was a halfhelm. The sky was black and starless. The wind was bitterly cold, ripping through metal, leather, fur lining, quilted tunic and cotton undershirt. Dickon's cheeks felt bright red despite the beard he'd been growing since the white raven arrived at Horn Hill. It would be an ugly contrast with his brown hair and green eyes.</p>
<p class="western">The pair of them rode to the front siege lines while men were getting themselves into armour, sharpening swords, eating what food they could and finishing siege equipment, all while their captains were yelling for them to prepare to attack. Dickon looked east: the clouds were beginning to turn grey. <em>First light. The hammer is allowed to fall</em><span>, he thought, somewhat grimly. His father was bellowing commands beside him, but Dickon interrupted to ask, “Will I be fighting, Father?”</span></p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll replied, speaking as a lord, not a father, “You are my heir and I don't want to risk loosing you. If you die, Horn Hill goes to your sister. As much as I love Talla, she is not made to be a ruler.”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon frowned. “It wouldn't be right if I spent my first battle sitting on a horse while other men are putting themselves at risk.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll frowned. “A commander must keep himself safe. He sits a horse while his men are on foot so that he can travel up and down the ranks, giving orders. If a commander dies, the army loses morale and are more likely to break. A new commander needs to take control of the men or they will not know what to do.”</p>
<p class="western">“But I'm not the commander, you are.”</p>
<p class="western">“You need to learn to be one.”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon looked around at the men preparing themselves, at the wall of Highgarden lit up by torches on the battlements. “If the men see their commander's heir amoung them, their morale might be higher than if he wasn't. I could join the fight once the first portcullis is raised.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll nodded, accepting. “Very well, but you go underneath the second turtle and you will not foolishly throw yourself into fights. Let the men around you protect you, they will be better accustomed to fighting.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'll stay with him, Lord Randyll,” Ser Tanton said, trotting up to join them. “I'll make sure that his head stays on his shoulders.”</p>
<p class="western"><span>More light creeped into the eastern sky, the clouds gradually becoming grey. Dickon kept the reins of his horse well in hand as the men around him prepared for battle. Even though it couldn't be heard over the noise of the camp, the men on the walls of Highgarden were preparing for the battle, same as their attackers. </span><em>So many men will die today. </em><span>The thought made his stomach feel like a rock in his lower torso. He fingered the hilt of his sword, as if letting go of it would make it certain he'd die when he joined the fray. </span>Ser Addam finally galloped up to them.</p>
<p class="western">“The men are in positon on all sides of the castle,” he informed. “They are ready for the order.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll gave Ser Addam a nod of acknowledge. The Lord of Horn Hill gripped the hilt of the sword hanging on his hip and pulled the steel from its scabbard. Holding the sword high in the air, Randyll Tarly bellowed his command:</p>
<p class="western">“ATTACK!”</p>
<p class="western">The hammer fell.</p>
<p class="western">Men on the front line were all crowded beneath turtles, pushing the lumbering things forward, their wheels slipping in the snow. To prevent the defenders from setting the turtles alight, they were covered in the hides of animals butchered for meat during the journey to the castle and horses that had died because of the weather. The command 'Loose at will' was heard once and no more volleys were given for the rest of the battle. Arrows began to fly from in-between merlons once the turtles were close enough, punching into the hides or breaking on impact; it was not long before the turtles began to take on the appearance of hedgehogs. The attacking archers sent their own shafts toward the top of the wall, though most of the arrows broke against merlons.</p>
<p class="western">When the turtles reached the moat, the ladders rose up against the wall, proving taller than it. Infantry followed after the turtles, holding up their shields to block arrow fire. Many of the men were wearing full plate armour that clattered with each step they took. The first men to begin climbing the ladders were the first men to die. An arrow land in the neck of a man who hadn't been wearing a gorget: he got caught on a ladder, so the man underneath him pushed his limp corpse off. Defenders threw rocks down on the climbers, as well as steaming water and burning pitch. The men underneath turtles would go unscathed, but the men who weren't would be scarred forever if they didn't die. Dickon felt the beginnings of panic setting in. <em>Did Sam feeling like this during the battles he fought in?</em></p>
<p class="western">By now the sky was all grey cloud, white flakes falling on the men doing battle. The first of men to reach the top of the ladders without dying climbed between merlons and began to kill the defending soldiers. A man fell limp through a crenel, his sword dropping to the ground while his arm hung in a way that no living arm would; eventually the body fell into the moat. More and more men were rising to the top of the ladders, so many that there were more attacking men than defending men on the portion of wall near the gatehouse. Dickon squinted suspiciously.</p>
<p class="western">“Father, there's too few men on the outer wall,” he said.</p>
<p class="western">“Perhaps Ser Vortimer kept more men for the two inner walls,” Father replied.</p>
<p class="western">“But surely you want the heaviest defenses to be at the forefront. Men can always retreat.”</p>
<p class="western">“What are you trying to say Dickon?”</p>
<p class="western">“I think they've got too few men to put up a decent defense, at least not against a force our size. You'd think with how much food and gold is said to be stored Highgarden's vaults, they would certainly have left more men than this.” He pointed at the castle. “They had a token garrison manning the castle until they learned of our intentions, only then did they call in some of the nearby petty lords &amp; landed knights. Given how valuable a full pantry would be during winter, there is absolutely no way someone like Olenna Tyrell would leave it so undefended, knowing full well she was inviting someone to come and take it.”</p>
<p class="western">Ser Tanton was the one to respond first: “Fuck me, he's right.”</p>
<p class="western">“About what?” Ser Addam asked.</p>
<p class="western">“This is an act,” Dickon stated. “This was a deliberate ploy to get an army away from King's Landing, leaving the city open for whatever army the Dragon Queen has available to her.” Lord Randyll's eyes grew wide in terror.</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Addam,” Father said, snapping his head round, “Ser Jaime was going to bring eight thousand men with him to this siege, wasn't he?”</p>
<p class="western">“He was, only then Arya Stark slaughtered the Freys and he needed to split the forces so that both Highgarden and the Stark girl could be seen to.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll stared at the castle. Dickon had never seen his father panic before. “Olenna Tyrell has played us for fools.” Anger took over. “I want this castle cracked like an egg. We will take every piece of food we find in those vaults and by the Seven I will have the head of Ser Vortimer myself.” The portcullis of the first gatehouse began to rattle as it rose. “Dickon, Ser Tanton, that is your call. Get underneath one of those turtles. Ser Tanton, you have the command of the push toward the second gatehouse.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, My Lord,” Ser Tanton said, dismounting.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, Father,” Dickon said, dismounting. Before he could begin walking, Lord Randyll took hold of his shoulder.</p>
<p class="western">“Be carefull, son,” Father told him.</p>
<p class="western">“I will, Father,” Dickon replied, nodding.</p>
<p class="western">Tanton kept hold of Dickon's arm as they approached the walls. The turtles were being lined up in front of the gatehouse, ready for the push forward. From the opposite side of the hill, smoke was rising. <em>The men on the other side have gotten the maze alight. </em><span>Every step Dickon took, he felt the rock his stomach had become get heavier. The stench of blood and death grew thicker in the air the closer he got to the wall. Two units of archers followed after Dickon and Ser Tanton. The pair of them got underneath the second turtle, the first one already inside the gatehouse.</span></p>
<p class="western">“Lord Randyll has given me command,” the Fossoway knight yelled. “On my order, that portcullis will be raised and the turtles will be pushed forward.” Organising soldiers seemed to go by quickly, but in reality it took at least a quarter of an hour. The ladders were retrieved from the front wall and any axe wielders got underneath the first turtle so they could attack the maze. “RAISE THE PORTCULLIS!”</p>
<p class="western"><span>Dickon heard the chains and saw the bottom of the portcullis disappear above the rim of the turtle. Being underneath the wooden structure, the light was little and the sound of breathing reverberated around them. Once the portcullis locked in place, the first turtle went forward only for the second to follow afterward. </span>Arrows bombarded the turtles as they moved up the snowed over road from the first gatehouse to the second gatehouse. Archers on the outer wall returned the arrows. The first turtle stopped, as did the second and all the others behind it.</p>
<p class="western">“What now?” Dickon asked Tanton.</p>
<p class="western">“We wait for the ladders to be put in position,” Tanton said. “You stay close to me and let me go out in front.” Dickon nodded.</p>
<p class="western">Hedge fur rustled violently either side of the road as axemen hacked clear a path to the walls. Men screamed as arrows found the gaps in their armour and burning pitch fell down on them from the crenels. Dickon risked a peak underneath the turtle's rim. He saw men lying dead in the snow, pools of blood growing beneath them. Hedge fur lay strewn and tattered in the wake of the axemen. It was a long wait before the ladders were carried out from under the turtle. <em>The men on top have less wall to worry about defending and we can't use the climbing spike tactic we used on the outer wall because of the maze.</em></p>
<p class="western">“The ladders are up!” a soldier yelled. “The ladders are up!”</p>
<p class="western">Tanton shook Dickon's arm and the pair of them moved out together. An arrow landed in the centre of Dickon's chest plate, snapping on impact, yet his panic strangely dissipated instead of building. <em>The rush of battle, that's what this is.</em> He drew his sword, trudging through the hedge fur after Tanton and the other men in front of them. They came to the nearest ladder then leaned flat against the castle wall. There were no machicolations lining the bottom edge of the ramparts, so they were reasonably safe. Dickon's lungs were heaving already, his sword gripped tightly by both hands. <em>You can do this. You can do this.</em></p>
<p class="western">“You can do this Dickon,” Tanton said beside him. “Just follow after me.” Dickon nodded, waiting for Tanton to climb a decent way up the ladder before following after him, having a view of the knight's rear until he disappeared over the ramparts. As Dickon's head emerge from between two merlons, his helmet stopped him from losing an eye: the attacking blade was angled diagonally, preventing it from slipping through his eye slit. He retaliated with a thrust of his own, stabbing at his attacker's neck. Metal met flesh and the man backed away, allowing Dickon to climb over the rampart.</p>
<p class="western">He finished off his first opponent by putting all his strength into a blow using the flat of his sword. It connected with the opponent's halfhelm and the man stumbled to the floor. Dickon wasn't given a moment to breathe before the next man came at him: he brought his sword into a hanging guard then wound it around the enemy blade to deliver a cut to the neck. Blood spurted from the wound, coating the steel that made the cut. Turning round toward the gatehouse, Dickon found Tanton by his yellow surcoat embroidered with the red apple of his house.</p>
<p class="western">“Tanton!” he called. The knight looked at him, nodding after dispatching his own opponent.</p>
<p class="western">Opponent after opponent came. Dickon killed some, injured others. His armour saved him more times than he cared to count. The rush of battle was on him. He moved quicker than he ever had when sparring with Ser Eustace or Father, his successful blows only spurring him on. The clatter of sword on sword and the rattle of armour filled the air. The pungent smell of blood filled his lungs with every breath he drew. To a man high on battle, it was the sweetest smell in the world.</p>
<p class="western">They cut their way along the wall to the door entering the gatehouse. Dickon leaned up against the wall beside it as Tanton began to kick it down. Another man took over, wielding a war hammer. Looking up at the grey sky, Dickon could tell the sun had reached its apex and was dipping into the west. <em>We were waiting underneath those turtles for ages. </em>He had also forgotten how cold it was and the snow falling from the sky because he was so occupied by the fight. Dickon saw just how far along the wall the ladders were. Arrows were flying toward them from the inner most wall; some of their own archers had climbed up the ladders and were loosing shafts in return. The wooden door was splintering by now, the hammer continuing to beat against it. Tanton stood with his sword shoulder in the wrath position, waiting for the door to break.</p>
<p class="western">When the door eventually broke away, Tanton rushed in, killing the first man in the entrance with a blow that landed half way inside his neck. Pulling the sword took enough time for Tanton to be grabbed by the collar by a Tyrell Archer who plunged a dirk through the eye slit of his helm. Dickon watched helplessly. When the knife was withdrawn, a flow of blood came with it, a red track flowing down the metal of Tanton's helm.</p>
<p class="western">The knight backed out of the door into the man behind him, screaming bloody murder, the sound muffled by his helm. Dickon brought his sword round to it plunge toward the man who had made Tanton half blind. The Tyrell archer was dressed in a gambeson, a quiver hanging off his belt. With how much force Dickon put into the plunge, he had no problem cutting through the fabric of the gambeson. Blood spilled out the wound in the archer's gut. Withdrawing the sword, Dickon brought it up and across, taking the archer's head off his shoulders. A fountain of red sprayed from the bloody stump and some fell through the visor of Dickon's helm.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>I'm blind.</em>
</p>
<p class="western"><span>Dickon swung his sword in three wild blows to ward off any approaching attacker, backing out of the gatehouse so he could take off his helm and clear away the blood. </span>He slumped down in the same place where he waited for the door to be broken down, laying his sword in-between his legs so he could pull his helmet off. Dickon tried to wipe the blood away but his metal gauntlets were a poor tool for the job.</p>
<p class="western">“Help me,” he said, knowing it was helpless. “I can't see. There's blood in my eyes.” Then he felt a piece of leather rub against him. It cleared the blood well enough for him to see the man who did it. “Thank you, Tanton.” The Fossoway knight was using one of his gloves to apply pressure to his wounded eye, the other he'd used to wipe the blood from Dickon's.</p>
<p class="western">“Better get back on your feet,” Tanton told him, voice hoarse. “Don't worry about me.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'll come back for you when the battle is done,” Dickon said, pulling his helmet back on.</p>
<p class="western">He was about to walk inside the gatehouse, following after a group of soldiers, when the grind and rattle of a portcullis rising began, but it was too far off to be from the gatehouse he was about to enter. Dickon looked toward the top of the hill and the gatehouse of the inner most wall. The portcullis was open and a rider was galloping out from it, holding a pole topped with a banner.</p>
<p class="western">“By the Gods!” Dickon exclaimed, incredulous. “That's a peace banner.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the order of the next few chapters, just so you have an idea of what to expect:</p>
<p>Chapter 21 - Davos II<br/>Chapter 22 - Sandor II<br/>Chapter 23 - Alys II<br/>Chapter 24 - Jaime III<br/>Chapter 25 - Jon IV</p>
<p>Also, prologues count as the first chapter when they should be labelled 'Chapter 0,' so that's why the chapter numbers are one underneath what they'll be numbered when they're uploaded. I don't like that there isn't an option to set a prologue as 'Chapter 0.'</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Davos II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Euron Greyjoy visits Dragonstone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Davos</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Davos smiled as he watched the first shipment of dragonglass sail out from Dragonstone's port. The group contained two cogs &amp; two galleons from White Harbour and two Gulltown galleys that had arrived as part of the fleet Lord Grafton had sent to Dragonstone. Excluding food &amp; other necessary supplies, their cargo holds were filled entirely by dragonglass. They would stop for a day or two in Gulltown, to rest &amp; restock, before making for White Harbour. After that, the dragonglass transported up the White Knife to Winterfell. <em>And there it'll become the first set of weapons that we'll use against the White Walkers.</em></p>
<p class="western">The Lord of Dragonstone was not alone in seeing off the miniature fleet: standing at his side was the immense Lord Manderly as well as Gyles Grafton, Lord Gerold Grafton's youngest son. Gyles was in command of the men &amp; ships his father sent to aid those on Dragonstone, proving himself to be quite apt at the job despite his youth. He was the spitting image of his father, save being younger and having neater hair.</p>
<p class="western">The ships disappeared from view before Davos thought to leave. As he turned around, the Onion Knight looked along the docks. They were filled predominantly by ships from White Harbour, but there was also the galleys from Gulltown as well as various vessels that had sailed over from the island of Driftmark, commanded by Monterys Velaryon.</p>
<p class="western">Not a week after the northern fleet made port on Dragonstone had the Master of Driftmark ventured to inspect the developments on the neighbouring island. Lord Velaryon had been escorted to the fortress by an honour guard put together by the dock master and Davos met him in the throne room. The two lords spoke long and fruitfully about the work being done on Dragonstone for an hour and, by the end of it, Lord Velaryon had pulled his bastard sword from its scabbared, laid it at Davos' feet and sworn fealty to the King in the North through his Hand. A raven had been sent to Driftmark, ordering fifteen ships to sail for Dragonstone, carrying whatever mining equipment they could. Lord Velaryon had remained on the island ever since.</p>
<p class="western">That evening, Lord Manderly suggested that they send ravens to all the lords of the Narrow Sea, calling on them to honour their allegiance to the Lord of Dragonstone. Davos had declined. “Let them come of their own accord,” he said. “If we demand they swear fealty, they will be less inclined to do so. If we let them come by themselves, they're more likely to accept me as their new liege lord and Jon as their King.”</p>
<p class="western">The longer Davos spent on the Dragonstone, the more it felt like he'd never left. Yes, the banners hanging from the ceiling were different, the people moving around the castle as well, but that didn't seem to matter. Mining was going smoothly. The sheer wealth of dragonglass in the caverns beneath the volcano was enough to make Davos think that it would be years before they needed to worry about running short. <em>And by then the White Walkers would of attacked.</em></p>
<p class="western">Walking up the stoney path to the fortress, Lord Velaryon was inspecting a yield of dragonglass. When mined, the glass would be put in crates and those crates would be loaded onto carriages that were then transported across the island to the docks then onto the ships. All the dragonglass was of the same quality, but it didn't hurt to inspect the size of the chunks. Lord Velaryon was holding a piece about the size of a large apple.</p>
<p class="western">“Is it a good piece?” Davos asked, as he came to a stop beside the carriage.</p>
<p class="western">“I'd say arrowheads are all you'd get out of it,” Lord Velaryon answered, before placing the dragonglass back in the crate. “Off you go,” he told the carriage driver. The Master of Driftmark returned to the fortress with Davos.</p>
<p class="western">They entered the throne room to eat supper. The chamber served as a dinning hall and a place for meetings. It was where all their important parchments were stored as well as being where the stewards prepared raven scrolls before taking the birds out of the front entrance to set them loose. Davos had yet to set foot in the room with the painted table. The main reason was that it had been where Stannis spent all his time with the Red Woman, listening to her whispers. Davos would not lay eyes on it ever again, so far as he could help. Another reason they did not use it was because they did not need to. They had all the maps they needed on parchment.</p>
<p class="western">Two days later, Davos was with Lord Manderly in the throne room talking over when to send the next shipment of dragonglass. Plenty was mined, certainly enough to warrant the next departure, but patrol groups sailing the mouth of Blackwater Bay were reporting strong winds and heavy rains: the remnants of winter storms raging over the Narrow Sea. Whispers were also coming up from Cape Wrath – through the Stormlands and up Massey's Hook – that a fleet of Ironborn and dornish ships was raiding small ports. Amoung this hostile fleet were ships with sails bearing the three-headed dragon of Targaryen.</p>
<p class="western">“If this fleet belongs to Daenerys Targaryen, then its possible they will attempt to take the fortress,” Davos said. “We will need every ship and soldier we have to defend the island should they refuse to first speak with us before attacking.”</p>
<p class="western">Manderly nodded, agreeing. “We'll probably receive updates as the fleet moves north. No doubt their main target will be King's Landing. They'll be wanting to save their strength to deal with Euron Greyjoy's ships, so I would say it's likely we could come to some form of truce that will last at least until King's Landing is taken.”</p>
<p class="western">A soldier then came running in, footsteps echoing off the walls, out of breath and dressed only in tunic &amp; breeches with a sword on his hip. He should have been wearing mail and leather as well, maybe even plate, but clearly those had been removed to allow for speed, judging by how heavy the man was panting. “Lord Davos,” he managed. “Lord Manderly. At the... docks... A single... Ironborn... ship... under,” he breathed in, then out, “under a peace banner, captained by Euron Greyjoy.”</p>
<p class="western">Davos &amp; Wyman looked at each other, then the soldier. “Did he say why he's here?” Davos asked.</p>
<p class="western">The soldier shook his head. “No, My Lord. The dock master asked, but Greyjoy said that he would not speak to anyone other than the person in charge about the reason for his visit.”</p>
<p class="western">Davos gave the soldier a nod. “Very well.” He looked at Wyman. “Find Lord Monterys and Gyles Grafton. Get them here. We'll go down to the docks with them and a company of twenty armed men.”</p>
<p class="western">The two men were found and the company was assembled. They set out down the stoney, road from the fortress to docks, their feet crunching as they left prints in the snow, the first that Dragonstone had seen this winter. No doubt children in the villages would be staging snowball fights or building snow knights, finding joy in what was likely the first snow they had ever seen in their lives. But Davos didn't like the snow one bit. It meant they were getting further into winter, which could only spell trouble.</p>
<p class="western">When they finally arrived at the docks, they found Euron Greyjoy standing on the pier that his shipwas tied to. <em>Silence</em> was a galley with a single mast, the wood of the hull painted a dark red and its black sail wider than any Davos had seen before, the golden Greyjoy kraken proud upon it. At the bow of the ship was a black iron figurehead in the shape of a maiden. She had long legs, a slender waist, full, naked breasts and a pretty face with eyes made from mother-of-pearl but no mouth. <em>To match the crew he keeps. </em>Davos unconsciously moved his hand closer to his sword hilt, though he doubt that he'd be able to beat Euron in fight.</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy,” Davos called down the pier to the man dressed in a pair of black breeches and a black tunic. His brown hair was long, combed backwards to flow down the back of his head, wet from sea water. The thick beard lining his jaw &amp; lips matched the colour of the hair on top of his head. Greyjoy's golden eyes were the brightest thing about him: the same colour as the kraken sewn on the breast of his tunic. His weapons of choice were both hanging from his hip, a single-handed axe and a long knife.</p>
<p class="western">“And you are?” Greyjoy yelled in reply.</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord of Dragonstone and Hand to Jon Stark, King in the North.”</p>
<p class="western">Greyjoy smiled, showing shiny, white teeth, before walking down the pier, unaccompanied by any of his crew. Where it might have made a different man come across more warmly, that smile only served to make Euron look more sinister. He walked with a swagger and confidence that came from being the most feared man to ever set sail. Each footstep rang against the wooden pier, the boots he wore made of black steel. <em>Valyrian steel</em>, Davos realised once Greyjoy was close enough. Euron stopped – five meters in front of their group – when Wyman bared two inches of steel.</p>
<p class="western">“That's close enough, Greyjoy,” the fat lord warned. “Any closer and the only thing going back to Cersei will be your head.”</p>
<p class="western">Greyjoy frowned. “Is that any way to treat someone who has come under a banner of peace?” he asked, pointedly.</p>
<p class="western">“We both know that you of all people don't care for things such as peace banners, kinslayer.”</p>
<p class="western">Euron studied Manderly. “You must be Lord Too-fat-to-sit-a-horse. I've heard of you.”</p>
<p class="western">“I am Lord <em>Wyman Manderly</em>, of White Harbour.”</p>
<p class="western">“And I am King <em>Euron Greyjoy</em>, of the Iron Islands,” he replied with a mocking tone.</p>
<p class="western">“Enough of this,” Davos snapped. “Why are you here, King Euron?” He didn't want to treat a man such as Euron Greyjoy with such courtesy, but he would not have it said he didn't play the part of a good host, even if his guest was someone who was banished for pursuing dark magic and murdering a brother.</p>
<p class="western">“I've been asked by Queen Cersei Lannister to see what you northmen are doing on this island.”</p>
<p class="western">“We're mining the dragonglass underneath the volcano and shipping it north to White Harbour.” Euron's eyes perked at the word 'dragonglass.'</p>
<p class="western">“Can I see these mines?”</p>
<p class="western">Davos thought a moment, before replying. “Yes.” He spoke slowly. “Would you like to bring some of your own men?” <em>It wouldn't make any difference should it come to swords.</em></p>
<p class="western">“No. They're mute and won't be of much use anywhere expect on my ship.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then let us get on with this.” Euron nodded and the welcoming party separated for him to walk past. Davos placed a hand on the shoulder of Gyles Grafton. “Get to the fortress and have a raven sent to Winterfell informing King Jon &amp; Princess Sansa that Euron Greyjoy was here and the reason why.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, My Lord,” Gyles replied.</p>
<p class="western">They returned the way they came, with the addition of Greyjoy. Uneasy was the silence that followed them. Gyles broke of from the group with Lord Velaryon and a handful of men when they reached the turn in the path that would take them to the mines. Davos, Manderly and Greyjoy walked to the base of the island's volcano with the men who were left. Soldiers stood along the path to the mines at key points, holding spears and shivering some from the cold. When they laid eyes on Greyjoy, their faces dropped. Finally coming to the volcano's base, many a carriage sat close to the several entrances. One of the first things they'd begun to work toward was connecting the many caves dotting the base of the volcano so that the men were working in one large mineshaft rather than several small ones.</p>
<p class="western">The company of soldiers remained without while Davos &amp; Lord Manderly took Greyjoy inside the mine, walking past men carrying crates of dragonglass. The caves were immediately warmer than outside thanks to being heated by the volcano. Scones were fixed into the walls so torches could provide the light. The tunnel was reasonably wide, allowing plenty of head space and several people to walk side by side. Echoing from far inside, getting louder with each step, was the din of pickaxes hitting dragonglass followed by the rock falling to the floor.</p>
<p class="western">Coming to the main chamber, it was about the size of the great hall in Winterfell, the walls jagged &amp; black. Crates lay on the floor, gradually being filled by the men working about the room, making it larger as they mined more dragonglass. Several branching paths led off in all directions. The torchlight bounced off against the dragonglass to produce an eerie pattern to dance within the translucent rock the chamber was made from.</p>
<p class="western">“You said you were shipping it north to White Harbour,” Euron said, observing the room. “What will happen to it when it gets there?” Davos looked at Lord Madnerly, asking silently for approval. Manderly nodded.</p>
<p class="western">“It will be taken to Winterfell and turned into weapons that will be used against the White Walkers,” Davos explained.</p>
<p class="western">Euron smiled, but didn't show off his teeth. “The White Walkers? They're real?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes,” Manderly said. “King Jon fought them beyond the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">Euron guffawed. “I've seen enough. I'll tell Cersei that you're no threat to her, on that you have my word. Can I take a piece of this dragonglass to show to Her Grace.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well,” Davos accepted. “Will you be staying to eat?” Seeing as Euron was technically a guest, it would be inappropriate not to offer.</p>
<p class="western">Euron guffawed again. “I have to decline your offer, My Lord. Cersei is not a patient woman and the last thing I want to do is keep her waiting. Besides, I've got good food on my ship.”</p>
<p class="western">They escorted Greyjoy back to the docks and saw him off with an escort of five ships to see him past Driftmark. As the massive black sail caught the wind, Davos turned to Manderly and said, “He smiled when we mentioned the White Walkers,” with concern in his tone.</p>
<p class="western">Wyman frowned. “What of it, Lord Davos?”</p>
<p class="western">“The reports of the situation in King's Landing said that Euorn showed a horn to Cersei that supposedly bound dragons to his will.” Davos looked back at <em>Silence </em>as it sailed softly westward, eyebrows frowning. “If it works, he can use the dragons however he likes.”</p>
<p class="western">A fear creeped into Wyman's tone. “And you think he'll bring down the Wall?”</p>
<p class="western">“I do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Sandor II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sandor arrives at Moat Cailin</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Sandor</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Sandor despised the Neck. He thought it had been bad back in the summer, making the journey south from Winterfell. but during winter it was a worse: all deep snow, treacherous footing and biting wind that got through his stolen cloak &amp; quilted tunic. He kept to the road best he could but very little people had travelled it and fresh snow filled in any tracks in blanket on the ground. With the clouds rarely ever breaking, it was more difficult to correct his direction should he need to. It was lucky that he hadn't accidentally taken his horse over a frozen bog yet, but Sandor was confident that it would happen by the time he reached Moat Cailin.</p><p class="western">Moving through the Riverlands had been easy enough, keeping close to the Kingsroad as much as possible but avoiding the Frey soldiers patrolling it. Sandor didn't stay in any villages, opting to find patches of woodland and sleep underneath the tree branches. Staying warm was difficult: the further north he got, the more snow would fall on him and the roads became less travelled. There were a few close calls, but he succeeded in never having to draw his sword.</p><p class="western">With his horse being the only companion he had on his ride north, the company that the Brotherhood had provided each night when they sat around a fire was sorely missed. It wasn't conversation he missed, most nights with the Brotherhood had been silent, it was other people. His days were white &amp; grey, his nights black. They only sounds in the world were the wind when it whispered or bellowed, the crunch of snow underneath his horse's hooves and the occasional <em>quork</em> of a raven flying overhead. Sandor found himself bored in his solitude.</p><p class="western"><em>At least what I'll find at the end of my journey is going to be worth the boredom</em> , Sandor thought warmly one night. <em>The Little Bird will speak for me and I'll probably become one of this King Jon's men-at-arms. There's worse things I could do for the rest of my life.</em></p><p class="western">When he finally came to Moat Cailin, it was a stark contrast to its surroundings: the swamplands were covered by a white blanket of snow – save a few trees sticking out here &amp; there – while the fortress was made of black stone supported by dark brown wood. Sitting inside a crumbling wall were three towers of varying shape, size and states of disrepair. The tall &amp; slender tower was called the Children's Tower, named since it was supposedly where the Children of the Forest asked their gods to make the Neck how it was. Standing at the south west corner of the grounds was the Drunkard's tower, named for its lean. It had once been a part of the stone wall, but was now behind the wooden wall that had been erected as the stone wall crumbled. The last of the towers was the largest. Squat &amp; wide, positioned close to the southern gate, it was the only tower that stood straight and called the Gatehouse Tower.</p><p class="western">As he got closer, Sandor could make out the direwolf of Stark upon the banners hanging from the tower, blowing loosely in the wind. Green moss creeped up the tower walls, clinging onto as much snow as it could. His stomach began to knot. He was not unaware of the fact that he might be met with resistance, being known as Joffrey's dog that turned tail and ran after the Blackwater. His reputation would work against him trying to get past.</p><p class="western">The last stretch of road before the main gate was bordered on either side by stone walls lined with battlements. The gate itself was oak banded with iron, sitting in a squat archway. Above it was a set of battlements behind a crenelated wall and standing on the battlements were two guards. Both bore tall spears, wearing boiled leather &amp; mail with steel halfhelms strapped to their heads. Both were thickly bearded, their faces hard as flint. They had watched him approach.</p><p class="western">“What do you want?” said the one to Sandor's left, whose hair &amp; beard was coloured a dark brown. He spat a glob of saliva through a crenel that landed in the snow in front of the gate. Sandor pushed down his hood, showing off his burn scars and stringy brown hair. Both guards were visibly taken aback.</p><p class="western">“I am Sandor Clegane,” he replied, “The Hound. I seek passage through Moat Cailin. I intend to offer my service to the King in the North.” The pair of guards laughed.</p><p class="western">“Have off it, mate,” the other guard said, his beard black. “If you think we're letting the bloody Hound through our gates, you've got to be thick in the 'ead. Whose to say that you won't plant a sword through our King's back in return for a pardon from the cunt on the Iron Throne.” He spat through his crenel. “We know you fuckin' lost it at the Blackwater. Why would you want to come north all of a sudden? To win your favour with Queen Cunt back, that's why.”</p><p class="western">Sandor hacked up his own mouthful of phlegm. “Do you know what my last words to any of those fucker were?”</p><p class="western">“Haven't the slightest.”</p><p class="western">“I told that little shit Joffrey to fuck off.”</p><p class="western">“That don't mean shit to me. I've lost count of 'ow many people I've told to fuck off, don't make no matter that you told that little shit to as well.”</p><p class="western">“At least let me speak to your commanding officer. How do you think he would react to hearing that I was at his gate and was turned away. He might of want to speak to me if given the opportunity? Perhaps I can convince him my intentions aren't to put a sword through your King's back.”</p><p class="western">“Fack off,” the one of the left piped up. “Ser Donald's got better things to do than speak to the likes of you.”</p><p class="western">Sandor thought a moment before saying, “You know I could just take the long way round the Neck. I didn't have to come to Moat Cailin. Why would I if I intended to join Jaime Lannister in sharing the title of Kingslayer? I'm smart enough to realise that you lot could just throw me a fucking cell the moment I strolled up to this gate.”</p><p class="western">The guards gave each other a look. One of them shrugged and the other nodded. The guard on the left disappeared. The guard of the right said, “Come in, don't make a fuss, we'll 'ave Ser Donald to you faster than you say 'Cersei's a cunt.'”</p><p class="western">The gate soon creaked it's way open, the heavy oak being pulled by two men. Sandor got his horse to trot underneath the arch. The courtyard left much to be desired and hadn't changed much from when the royal party returned to King's Landing from Winterfell all those years ago. No snow been cleared away, but the mud beneath it was showing thanks to the footsteps of the men walking through it. The guard with the black beard made his way down a set of stairs. With the wall out of the way, Sandor was able to see his stocky build while dismounting.</p><p class="western">The other guard soon came strolling out of the Gatehouse Tower beside a well groomed, brown haired man. He wore a good tunic of dark blue wool, the direwolf of Stark sewn onto the breast. He walked with long, determined strides, each one accompanied by a motion from the opposite arm. Once the guardsman reached Sandor, he gestured lazily and said, “Here he is, Ser Donald.”</p><p class="western">
  <em>Of course he's a fucking knight.</em>
</p><p class="western">“Thank you Desmond,” Ser Donald replied, voice clear and northern. “You and Adrian get back on the gate.” Both the guardsmen returned to their post while Ser Donald called over a stablehand to take Sandor's horse. The knight was a head shorter than Sandor. “Greetings, Clegane. My name is Ser Donald of the Rills, commander of this garrison. What brings you to the North?”</p><p class="western">“I mean to enter the King's service,” Sandor answered. Donald moved to Sandor's side and placed a hand on his back.</p><p class="western">“Walk with me.” They began to walk, boots <em>squelching</em> in the muddy snow. “I have no intention of insulting you Clegane, but given your previous service history, you must understand that it is slightly suspicious that you would be making your way to Winterfell soon after the castle was reclaimed in the name of House Stark. I have every desire to let you past, believing your intentions are genuine, but given my duty is to ensure no threats to His Grace's or the North's safety makes past Moat Cailin, I cannot let you go until you give me undeniable proof you mean the King no harm.”</p><p class="western">“How do you expect me to do that given all I have are words, the clothes on my back and the sword on my belt?”</p><p class="western">“I don't know Clegane. Maybe we can work that out together.”</p><p class="western">“Sansa Stark is at Winterfell.”</p><p class="western">“She is. She's currently in charge of running the kingdom while King Jon is taking prisoners to the Wall.”</p><p class="western">“Send her a raven. Tell her I'm here and why. I guarantee that she will tell you to let me past.” Sandor stopped, forcing Ser Donald to as well. “Tell her I know where Arya is.”</p><p class="western">The knight frowned. “Princess Arya? You were with her?”</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">Ser Donald nodded. “Very well. I will send a raven to Princess Sansa asking for her approval to send you to her. It will take around a week for the reply to arrive, in that time you are welcome to a bedchamber in the Gatehouse Tower and to practice your swordplay with my men.”</p><p class="western">“Just so long as I can be on my way as soon as the reply arrives.”</p><p class="western">“You have my word.”</p><p class="western">That evening, Sandor joined the garrison in the main hall of the Gatehouse Tower. The meal being served was a thick beef stew populated by carrot, turnip, onion and even some garlic. The beard was burned black, difficult to tear, the crust tough; soaking it in the stew did very little to help. At the very least, the wine was good: it was fruity, strong and blood red. Sandor drank his fill and then a bit more. It distracted him from the weeping of his eyes caused by the smoke coming off the ten braziers keeping the hall warm.</p><p class="western">After supper, Sandor stumbled his way up to the bedchamber reserved for him. Being so used to sleeping on the hard ground of the wilderness, he relished sleeping on the straw mattress. He dreamed of wildfire: green flame towering into the air as an army burned outside a castle. Sandor found himself the castle's underbelly, protecting smallfolk. But he wasn't a man, he was a dog. Beside him were four direwolves: one with white fur &amp; red eyes, one with red fur &amp; blue eyes, one with brown fur &amp; grey eyes and the last with grey fur &amp; golden eyes.</p><p class="western">In the morning, he skipped breaking his fast in favour of heading straight for the training yard. The master-at-arms gave him a blunt sword, put him in some old plate armour and Sandor found what he'd be doing until he left Moat Cailin. He began by hitting the training dummies set up in the yard, but then some men of the garrison came into the yard, seeking to sharpen their own swordplay. One of them asked Sandor for a spar and the request was fulfilled. It finished with two moves: Sandor blocking his opponent's sword and then hitting his opponent hard on the temple. The opponent stumbled backwards and they sparred again. And again. And again.</p><p class="western">That first set of spars with one person turned into Sandor running drills with anyone who stepped into the training yard. Unsurprisingly, many of the soldiers turned out to be from small villages and gone through very little proper sword training. By the time the raven carrying Sansa's reply arrived, all the soldiers in Moat Cailin's garrison had improved their sword skills thanks to Sandor. <em>If I'm going to be in the service of the King in the North, it is the least I can do to start off .</em></p><p class="western">Ser Donald brought the raven scroll to Sandor the moment it arrived. “She wrote something for you at the end,” the knight said handing over the scroll. Sandor read:</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Sandor, keep hold of this raven scroll. Below is my written permission for you to enter Winterfell. I can't tell the guards to let you in because I'd rather not make you're arrival known ahead of time for reasons I'll explain once you're here. Just show them this scroll, they'll know my signature.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Until you arrive,</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>The Little Bird </em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">At that Sandor smiled. He didn't care for sentiment, but it was nice to see Sansa sign off her message to him with the name he'd called her in King's Landing. Carefully ripping the scroll, Sandor handed Ser Donald the piece that had the message on it, keeping the piece permitting him entry to Winterfell for himself. “I'll be wanting my horse,” Sandor said to Ser Donald.</p><p class="western">“I'll have it brought out,” Ser Donald replied. “You've been a better guest than I expected, Clegane. It's a shame to see you go. My men having certainly benefited from having you in the training yard.”</p><p class="western">“You should get someone to teach them properly after I'm gone. Should Cersei ever decide to send an army against you, I doubt your men will prove useful at anything other than throwing rocks off your battlements.”</p><p class="western">The knight smirked. “Perhaps I'll request King Jon send you here once you've entered his service.”</p><p class="western">“Do that and I'll throw you from the top of the Wall.”</p><p class="western">Ser Donald laughed warmly before showing Sandor to the stables.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Alys II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alys Karstark delivers men to Eastwatch.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Alys</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The tall pines were a lush green under the frosting of fallen snow, the pine fur at their bottoms swallowed by a meter thick blanket. The cold was sharp as valyrian steel, it came in from the east – off the salt of the sea subdued – picking up loose flakes and making the snow wild in the air. It made Alys extremely grateful that their destination lied close ahead. The road their carriage train travelled along had been cleared as much as the men of Eastwatch could manage. Leading the train beside her was Sigron, who wore tunic, breeches and cloak. Her own clothes consisted of thick breeches, a quilted tunic with the Karstark sunburst embroidered on the breast, a heavy cloak and a scarf that covered the lower half of her face. Her long sword sat on her hip. Ser Edmund would have been with them had Alys not left him behind as Castellan of Karhold.</p>
<p class="western">The trees grew sparse at the northern edge of the woods. Men in all black shoveled snow and swung axes, their metal heads biting bark. Alys heard a pine tree falling and turned her head quick enough to see it slump onto the ground, sending flakes up into the air. As they travelled further, snowed-over stumps littered the ground and men were cutting pine fur from trunks. <em>With winter here, they need more fire wood.</em></p>
<p class="western">Looking ahead, Eastwatch was a dismal place. It sat close to where the land stopped and the sea started. Wooden piers stretched out into the salt water of the Bay of Seals, holding workmen &amp; sailors &amp; ships. With the Wall just north of it, the fortress seemed tiny. Built from grey, mortared stone, it had clearly seen better days. A modest outer wall surrounded the several small keeps that served as the Night's Watch eastern most outpost, though many parts of the wall had crumbled and several of the keeps looked uninhabitable. Climbing the ice of the Wall was a sprawling collection of wooden staircases and ramps, even a few small huts. <em>I wouldn't want to sleep in one of those. </em>Clinging to the western side of the fortress, like a barnacle on a ship's hull, was the Free Folk camp, populated by hide tents and small cookfires producing smoke that danced in the wind. It looked much more alive than the fortress it sat beside.</p>
<p class="western">“It seems your fellow Free Folk have made themselves at home,” Alys quipped, her voice muffled by her scarf and turning to a white mist in the air.</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn chuckled briefly. “They have a habit of doing that,” he replied, voice hoarse.</p>
<p class="western">The Gods had answered the prayer Alys gave them at her wedding: it had been very easy to get Sigorn to act like a proper lord, though he had an abrasive personality and pitch black sense of humour. Alys took a liking to him despite it and wanted him to help her rule the Karstark lands, spending plenty of her time teaching him how to rule. Sigorn could not read or write and spoke the Old Tongue better than the Common, so Alys had gotten Maester Garrett to teach how to write &amp; read and he would grow to speak the Common Tongue better in time by using it to speak with her.</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn's people were met with an initial resistance by Alys' subjects in Karhold, but after a week, relations began to improve. Most of them could not speak a word of the Common Tongue, so there was a natural separation between the thenns and the castle's other inhabitants. Alys was sure the separation would dissolve in time, slowly at first but more rapidly later on. She saw the beginnings of it before leaving Karhold: thenns were doing their best to speak with her other subjects in the baileys of Karhold. She also heard the usual reports of people being discovered in the middle of rutting, expect they involved thenn men &amp; women on occasion now.</p>
<p class="western">As the train of carriages was closing in on the Night's Watch fortress, Alys saw horses leave through the front gate that faced west. The passed in-between tents and Free Folk, four in number: three in black, one in grey with bright red hair. Alys smiled. <em>Tormund. </em>She lifted her arm up high, fingers clenched into a fist. The train of carriages came to a stop while they waited for the welcoming party to reach them.</p>
<p class="western">“Karstark!” Tormund bellowed once he'd stopped. “It's fucking good to see you.”</p>
<p class="western">“The feeling's mutual, Giantsbane,” Alys replied.</p>
<p class="western">Tormund eyed Sigorn and grinned. “How good a wife has she been, Sigorn?”</p>
<p class="western">“Like I'd tell you, Bear Fucker,” Sigorn said.</p>
<p class="western">That set Tormund off laughing. One of the sworn brothers urged his horse slightly forward. “It's an honour for you to visit, Lady Alys,” he said. “My name is Ser Glendon Hewett, the Master-at-arms here at Eastwatch. Commander Pyke apologies for not being able to greet you here in person, he's currently in a meeting with the Maester.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well, Ser Glendon. Lead on.”</p>
<p class="western">The man nodded and the four who'd ridden out turned their horses around, Tormund doing so after he'd gone to Alys' side. The train was moving again. “Reading that raven scroll was better than I'd thought it would be,” Tormund told Alys. “I swear to the Old Gods that the White Walkers would have been scared off by my laughter had they been creeping close to this end of the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then it's a shame you didn't wait to read the scroll until the White Walkers attacked?”</p>
<p class="western">“Har! You're too bloody right, Karstark, but I couldn't help myself. The thought of your husband here thinking you were going to gut him only to find out he'd been tricked was too funny to wait for.”</p>
<p class="western">Tormund bellowed a laugh and kept at it until they finally dismounted. They passed through the stone arch in the wall to enter a reasonably sized courtyard. When they came to a stop, Alys' men began moving the criminals out of the carriages. Each of the condemned men looked miserable and that was understandable. Tomorrow they would be carted away to Castle Black and put through training before being assigned to one of the three orders and saying their words. Ser Glendon approached her and bowed with his head.</p>
<p class="western">“If you would follow me, My Lady,” he said. “I will show you to the rooms we reserved for you and your husband.”</p>
<p class="western">Alys nodded, but caught Tormund before she went with the Master-at-arms. “Where will I find you if I want to speak?” she asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Top of the Wall,” Tormund answered. “I spend my days up there. Only reason why I rode out to see you is 'cause I saw your carriages coming out from the woods.”</p>
<p class="western">Ser Glendon led the way across the yard to the largest of the old, crumbling keeps while Tormund made his way to the Wall. The stone wall surrounding Eastwatch was connected to the ice wall. Entering the keep, she noticed that it was only marginally warmer than outside. Torches hung from the walls in iron sconces. They produced plenty of light but the heat didn't pierce the cold air that lingered in the stone corridors of the keep.</p>
<p class="western">The chamber they were shown to was small. A single window let in cold, white light, but not as much as it could: a pile of snow had built up on the outside window sill. The light shaft landed at the foot of the double bed that consisted of a straw mattress and a wooden frame that looked newly made. <em>I'll bet the bed was only made once they received my raven saying I'd be coming with my husband. </em>The bed clothes looked old and tattered, but were at the very least thick. Otherwise, there was no furniture in the room besides a waist-high table with a water basin on it. The only colour in the room was the light brown of the wooden bed frame and the white ceramic of the water basin.</p>
<p class="western">Ser Glendon left them. A steward brought their travel cases to the room. They had nothing to do beside opening the window to clear the piled snow and wait for Cotter Pyke to be finished in his meeting. Alys took off the scarf from around her face and a steward eventually came to take them to Cotter Pyke. Once again they walked through the cold, grey corridors of Eastwatch's main keep, climbing a set of stairs all the way to the top floor with Commander Pyke's chambers were.</p>
<p class="western">Entering said chambers, Alys found the Commander of Eastwatch a hard, lean man. Pox scars covered his face, distracting her from a pair of close-set eyes and misshapen nose that had been broken a great number of times. Brown hair topped his head, pointing forward into a widow's peak. He wore all black, just like any other man of the Night's Watch: breeches, tunic, boots and leather jerkin. Maester Harmune was still in the room, dressed in a thick, black robe, his chain hanging heavy around his neck. Alys remembered his name from a raven scroll sent to Karhold. Harmune looked a typical old man: thin, grey hair, thick eyebrows, weary eyes and wrinkled skin.</p>
<p class="western">When Pyke laid eyes on Alys, his face crunched up in disgust. “You've got a lot of fucking nerve, woman,” he said. Alys simply tilted her head at the remark, already aware of Cotter Pyke's rough speech.</p>
<p class="western">“And it is a wonderful to accept your hospitality, Commander Pyke,” Alys replied, solid as stone and almost sarcastic. “Can I ask why you claim I have a lot of nerve?”</p>
<p class="western">“You have brought men to Eastwatch and forced me to assign men to cart them off to Castle Black. Why didn't you just take them there yourself?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because Eastwatch is closer to Karhold and I have to be back there as soon as I can. Don't say I should have stayed at Karhold and let someone else escort my prisoners. My King is doing the same, so I wanted to follow his example.”</p>
<p class="western">Cotter gave a grim chuckle. “Yes. Jon Stark, the new King in the North and my Lord Commander. Any other reason why you came?”</p>
<p class="western">“I wanted to see the Wall and know whether or not the tunnel had been sealed properly. If the White Walkers get through the Wall and continue directly south, they will eventually be travelling over my lands and will be slaughtering my smallfolk.”</p>
<p class="western">“You'll be pleased to find that we've piled rocks and tree trucks into the far end of the tunnel and poured walk through our murder holes. It's going to be a slow process gathering the materials to fill the tunnel with, but we're getting there. Those trees you would have seen being cut down are being used for more than just firewood.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. What have you sailors been reporting?”</p>
<p class="western">Pyke's frown curled deeper. “Nothing, during the day,” he replied ominously. “But at night...” There was fear in his eyes. “The night's are pitch black. The only light my sailors get is from torches and the... and further north up the coast,” he turned to Harmune, “Maester, get that map of the lands beyond the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">Maester Harmune rose, walked over to a shelf and pulled a large, rolled up parchment from it. He unrolled into on the table and Cotter moved a candle to weigh down one of the corners then dragged his finger over a straight line of coast that led north to the bottom of Storrold's Point. “Whenever my sailors are patrolling this stretch of coast during the night, they report seeing hundreds of cold blue lights moving through the trees,” Pyke explained. “Strange thing is, they don't report the lights along the piece of coast just below it.” He dragged his finger south along a humped piece of coast that curved toward Eastwatch. “Either those frozen cunts are travelling too far inland to be spotted from ships or they're travelling south-west to Castle Black or somewhere between there &amp; Eastwatch. Either way, the Walkers and their army are making their way toward the Wall ”</p>
<p class="western">Alys stared at the map silently. “I was going to ask if the Free Folk are presenting any problem,” she said slowly, “and if you wanted me to send you men to help man the castle.”</p>
<p class="western">“The wildlings have been acting fine. Some of them went off to the two nearest forts and I sent some of my builders to work on the keeps so they're better suited for habitation. I won't need anymore men while the wildlings are here.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well. That is all the business that I needed to speak you about. Do you have anything else to discuss?” Pyke shook his head. “Then I'll take my leave.” Pyke nodded.</p>
<p class="western">The day was old already and Alys felt tired: the only things essential things left in the day would be to eat supper and sleep, but she would be leaving on the morrow and didn't know if she would ever be coming a back to the Wall. When she left Pyke's chamber, Alys stopped in the corridor to tell Sigorn to run their men through some drills in the training yard while she went to the top of the Wall.</p>
<p class="western">The climb was slow and uncomfortable, the wooden platforms creaking as she went. Getting higher, the wind blew more strongly, its bite growing sharper. Cold coming off the ice made her regret not retrieving her scarf as her cheeks grew numb. Alys hugged herself tightly, flinching at even the slightest crack that vibrated through the Wall. <em>It has stood for thousands of years. You' weigh less than the men that have manned it in all that time. You climbing the Wall is not going to be the thing to make it fall.</em></p>
<p class="western">When Alys finally reached the top of the Wall, she asked one of the guards where Tormund was and the guard pointed west. Planks of timber had been laid down on the path every half meter with gravel scattered in-between them. Clearly their purpose was to provide feet better grip on the ice and Alys was thankful for it. Warming sheds and wooden shelters that housed braziers lined the path. She did not count the men she passed, but was confident they were half made of sworn brothers and half made of Free Folk. Tormund was standing on a platform that jutted out from the Wall a small bit, his bright red hair dancing in the wind. Alys' hair was braided and tucked under her cloak.</p>
<p class="western">“A bit nippy, isn't it,” she said, stopping beside him. Alys saw the land beyond the Wall for the first time in her twenty-one years. It was white from the Wall to the horizons save some green sprinkled in amoung the trees and the grey water crashing against the coast.</p>
<p class="western">“More than a bit,” Tormund replied.</p>
<p class="western">“This is the first time that I've ever seen the land beyond the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">“It's a sight to behold, but you wouldn't want to be that side of the Wall now.”</p>
<p class="western">“Pyke told me his sailors have seen blue lights along the coastline just south of Storrold's Point.”</p>
<p class="western">“That'll be the wights and the White Walkers.”</p>
<p class="western">“What was it like to fight them?”</p>
<p class="western">“Near impossible, least not if you don't have the weapons. At Hardhome, they came at us with a swarm. Anyone who didn't get on the boats died.” He turned to face her. “Let me tell you this Karstark, when you see those things for the first time, you'll be frozen with fear. The sight of those blue eyes in the distance will turn the bravest man craven and there wouldn't be any shame in admitting it.” He spoke in quiet, serious tone that suggested fear. Alys had never thought to hear a man such as Tormund afraid.</p>
<p class="western">The sky turned from dark grey to darker grey to black. The only light in the world were torches and fires and the light from the red comet bleeding through the clouds. <em>Its light is brighter than the Sun's during the day.</em> Alys, Sigron and the Karhold men ate in the common hall: a long, wooden building that could seat two hundred men, three hundred if they were packed tightly. Supper was a thin beef &amp; barley stew that filled her stomach and warmed her body, washed down with an ale than tasted like dirt. She walked to her guest chamber beside Sigorn after supper, body aching from travel.</p>
<p class="western">Lying on the bed dressed in a nightshift, Alys stared at the ceiling, willing herself to fall asleep. The room was dark, the wooden shutters closed in front of the window, but her eyes had adjusted to it. Sigorn was lying on his stomach beside her, breathing slowly and holding onto his pillow. She looked at his scarred face: it was not what one would call comely, but Alys had begun to find it very attractive. <em>That's what I need. All the travel has wound me tight. I need to unwind. </em>She rolled onto her side to get close to Sigorn, running a hand along her husband's body. The muscles underneath his nightshirt were firm but tense. <em>He needs to unwind as well. </em>Alys' hand stopped on Sigorn's backside. She squeezed and his eyes snapped open.</p>
<p class="western">“What?” he asked gruffly, most of his mouth pressed into the pillow.</p>
<p class="western">“I want to make love,” Alys replied quietly. That made Sigorn grin.</p>
<p class="western">In an instant he was above her, weight supported by his arms pressing into Alys pillow, either side of her head. Sigorn's eyes filled with lust and Alys grinned at the prospect. Husband &amp; wife kissed once – long &amp; passionate – before the pair of them sought out removing their night clothes. Sigorn knelt and Alys sat against the wall behind her as they removed the garments, chucking them on the floor. The chilled air made Alys' flesh prickled with gooseflesh and her dark pink nipples grew stiff.</p>
<p class="western">Sigorn bent down and kissed her again, a breast in each hand, massaging them. Alys shuddered at his touch, returning the kiss and reaching for his cock. Taking it hand, it was already part way hard. Alys wrapped her legs around Sigorn's hips, forcing them toward her own, guiding his cock to her cunny which was already sopping wet. Sigorn pushed his hips forward the rest of the way, entering his wife as they moaned in unison. Alys felt complete once he was all the way in, wrapping her arms around his torso to pull him close whilst his hips did their work.</p>
<p class="western">She could not help but remember their first time together. Alys had heard that the first time for any woman was painful, but she'd felt what could be best described as a sharp ache after her maidenhead had been broken. The ache grew duller each time they made love and was gone by their fifth time. Ever since, Alys had only felt intense pleasure as Sigorn moved in &amp; out of her. He had strong hips and she sometimes worried that he would send both their heads crashing into the headboard, in this case, the stone wall.</p>
<p class="western">Very soon she felt her lower belly begin to knot. It wasn't the knot of an upset stomach or incredible fear, it was a knot that sent lightning pleasure through her body when pulled undone, making her shake and white stars flash behind her eyes. Alys would dig her nails into the skin on Sigorn's back, leaving red, crescent shaped marks. He never complained; Alys was half convinced that he loved it when she dug her nails into his back since he would only thrust harder into her.</p>
<p class="western">The knot grew tighter &amp; tighter. The room filled with her moans, Sigorn's moans and the slapping of wet flesh. Every time he drew back, a worry creeped into the back of Alys' mind that Sigorn would withdraw completely, but he never did and she loved him for it. During their time as man &amp; wife, Alys had grown to love the feeling of Sigorn inside her: it made her feel as if she &amp; her husband were one person. The knot grew as tight as it could and one more thrust of Sigorn's hips sent Alys over the edge.</p>
<p class="western">She screamed blissfully, her body shaking and hot; a layer of sweat had formed on top of her skin. The walls of her cunny convulsed around Sigorn. He let a groan and quickly withdrew completely only to send a stream of hot seed onto Alys' belly, moaning so deeply she could feel it with legs since they were still wrapped around Sigorn's hips. Her mind was cloudy as she came down from her peak and it almost felt like his seed was burning her skin. Sigorn knelt as he breathed, drawing in heavy breath after heavy breath. The softest smile Alys had ever seen perked his lips. She was sure that it could bring her to a second peak by itself.</p>
<p class="western">Once their breathing slowed Alys sat up and cupped Sigorn's face. “Thank you for remembering to spill on my belly,” she said before kissing him. Never had Alys let Sigorn spill his seed inside her: she didn't want to get with child while the White Walkers remained a threat. To be doubly careful, every morning after love making, she had Maester Garrett brew her some Moon tea.</p>
<p class="western">“It's no problem, only we now have to wash ourselves before heading off to sleep,” Sigorn replied.</p>
<p class="western">The pair of them stood and walked over to the table with the water basin. Alys poured it full and soaked a cloth before wiping Sigorn's seed from her belly and then Sigorn's manhood. She let out a brief laugh as he pulled her close to kiss her again. They held the kiss for a long time, feet upon the cold stone floor and Alys still cupping his manhood. They would of held it for much longer had the horn made her jump.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>O<span>OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</span>-aaaaaaaaa-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Alys' head snapped toward the window. The snow had piled on the window sill higher than when she cleared it earlier.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>O<span>OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</span>-aaaaaaaaa-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!</em>
</p>
<p class="western">The first note was low &amp; long, the second higher &amp; shorter, the third identical to the first. Each rang against the walls of the room and made Alys' belly knotted all over again; only this time the knot was fear, not pleasure.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>O<span>OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</span>-aaaaaaaaa-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Alys dropped the wash cloth and went to pull on her clothes. Sigorn did the same. They strapped on swords and threw cloaks over their shoulders before rushing out of the room, then the keep. Many others had gotten the same idea as Alys, making for the staircases climbing the Wall. Her legs carried her as fast they could up the great wooden structure built into the ice. She did not care about cold, she didn't even feel it in her haste. At the top of the Wall she searched for Tormund and found him closer to the stairs than she had earlier. He was looking out over the Haunted Forest, eyes locked on the three pairs of cold, blue light lingering at the edge of the trees.</p>
<p class="western">Alys finally felt the cold. It was so intense that it hurt ot breathe and she almost forgot her fear.</p>
<p class="western">“Is that them?” she asked, stupidly.</p>
<p class="western">Tormund only grunted a confirmation. “Only those three have reared their heads. There would be more if they mean to attack, I have no doubt. They'd have wights as well.” Alys fingered her sword hilt. Tormund noticed. “That steel will do you fuck all good, Karstark. It'll shatter like glass the moment it meets one of their blades.” Alys fingered the hilt all the same.</p>
<p class="western">“Is this the first time they've shown up?”</p>
<p class="western">“Aye. It is. But I'll expect that they'll be peeping in on us in the nights to come. If they're this close to the Wall, they'll be wanting to judge our defenses.” For some strange reason, Alys felt an ugre to look up at the sky and find the light of the red comet. <em>The colour of blood</em>, she thought grimly. Cotter Pyke eventually appeared at the top of the Wall and Tormund filled him in on what the Walkers had done since appearing. “Nothing,” he said. And that's all they did for what felt like forever.</p>
<p class="western">Eventually, the blue eyes moved.</p>
<p class="western">The White Walkers turned their backs on the Wall and returned to the trees of the Haunted Forest. Alys took her hand off her sword hilt. Cotter turned round to one of his men. “Wake Maester Harmune if he isn't already awake,” he ordered. “Tell him to send a raven to Castle Black and another to Winterfell informing them that three White Walkers have been seen at the edge of the Haunted Forest.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, Commander Pyke,” the man said, before walking away.</p>
<p class="western">Alys kept her eyes locked on the trees, afraid that if she looked way, an army of wights would emerge and attack. <em>I pray to Old Gods and the New that this wall never falls.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Jaime III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime's army arrives at the Twins and he meets the new Lord of the Crossing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Jaime</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Jaime's eyelids were heavy, so the sight of the Twins was sweeter than freshest summer peach. Midday had been his estimate for when they were going to arrive but they had seen the heaviest snow of the winter so far and it was now late evening. The column's pace wasn't helped by having their numbers swollen by freeriders. They numbered four thousand, five hundred leaving Harrenhal – or near enough to make no matter – and now they were five thousand. They had broken off from the Kingsroad to ride beside the Green Fork toward their destination and Jaime hadn't fail to notice the layer of ice that grew gradually each day. Now a mile from the Twins, the column's outriders when riding to meet them.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Arwood is ready to meet you Ser Jaime,” the lead outrider said. “He says that the men should make camp this side of the Green Fork.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well,” Jaime replied, curtly. The order was passed down the column.</p>
<p class="western">As they drew close to the eastern Twin, the portcullis began to rise. The clatter and rattle of the steel chains could hardly be heard over the deafening wind. Jaime brough his horse to stop, as did Bronn and the other men at the front of the column. A company of ten rode out from underneath the arch, one of them bearing a banner pole and all of them dressed in thick clothes. Chief amoung the company was their leader, dressed in the finest wool of them all. He had dark brown hair, cut short &amp; neat. A bastard sword hung on the left of his hip. The company came to a halt and the leader was the person to speak.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Jaime,” he said loudly, trying to be heard over the wind. “It is good of you to be here. I thought the snow would have delayed you.”</p>
<p class="western">“It did delay us,” Jaime replied, not unkindly. “I presume you are Lord Arwood.”</p>
<p class="western">The man nodded. “If you would be so good, please join me for supper. I was in the middle of cooking it when your outriders arrived to inform us you were close.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime nodded. “Lead the way.”</p>
<p class="western">The Frey company turned their horses around. Jaime &amp; his men followed them inside the eastern Twin, letting out a sigh of relief to finally be out of the wind &amp; snow. The gatehouse doubled as an opening chamber for the castle, lit &amp; warmed by many torches and braziers. Jaime could not help wondering what idiot designed a gatehouse inside the castle it was meant to defend. <em>The whole point of a gatehouse to is to make it more difficult for attackers to gain entry, so if someone were to take this gatehouse, they would win access to the castle. </em>Dismounting, Jaime noticed the serving women standing in line with plates of bread and bowls of salt.</p>
<p class="western">“Your men can leave their horses here,” Lord Arwood told Jaime, walking up to him, “but they will be served dinner in the main hall in the western castle.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime squinted, tilting his head. The Lord of Crossing was shorter than him, so he had to look down slightly. “Why? Aren't you going to play the host?”</p>
<p class="western">“I am playing the host,” Arwood said firmly. “They will be served in the western castle by my cooks. I will be serving you personally.” He gestured to the serving women. “But before any of you go further, you must eat some bread and salt. You are not guests until you do.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>So that's how he's playing this.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Jaime ate his piece of bread and it was sorely welcome, even its purpose was clearly supposed to criticise what his Father had planned with Walder Frey. He'd not eaten since the morning as there hadn't been a good opportunity to stop the column in the snow. Bronn ate as well, so did the ten of Jaime's men that had come inside with them. Arwood gestured to a man with black hair and a thick beard. “Your men will be escorted over the bridge by the Captain of my guard, Ser Brendon Jyles,” said Arwood Frey.</p>
<p class="western">“Ser Bronn eats with us,” Jaime asserted. “He is my second-in-command.” Lord Arwood nodded, accepting.</p>
<p class="western">Jaime &amp; Bronn followed the Lord of the Crossing out of the gatehouse through a door in the side of the chamber, from there it was a series of corridors and staircases through the castle to Lord Arwood's solar. The corridors were decorated with the odd tapestry, rug or ornament. None lacked a brazier. Keeping the castle warm was clearly a priority to this new Lord of the Crossing and Jaime could not blame him. The Red Keep suffered from being built in the usually hot climate of King's Landing, making it poorly equiped to deal with snow.</p>
<p class="western">Lord Arwood's solar proved was a decently sized room: not too big, not too small. It featured all the usual furniture one would expect – table, chairs, desk, bookshelf – but one thing out of the ordinary was a small kitchen space in the corner, a pot of stew was simmering away. The solar was already occupied by four children – two boys, two girls – and a woman with long, honey blonde hair, the younger of the two girls nursing at her breast. Upon entering, the three other children came running at Arwood and he wrapped his arms around all three.</p>
<p class="western">The very obvious conclusion Jaime came to was that these were the Lord's wife &amp; children. All of the children took after Arwood in hair colour and the two boys were clearly twins. Arwood stood after embracing his children then told Jaime &amp; Bronn to sit at the table. They did as they were bid, albeit awkwardly. Jaime sent Bronn several glances as they avoided Arwood's children playing on the floor while their father saw to the stew simmering in the corner.</p>
<p class="western">“How was the journey up here?” Lord Arwood's wife asked once the pair were seated. Out the corner of Jaime's eye, Bronn was trying not to stare at the woman's chest where her daughter was feeding.</p>
<p class="western">“Miserable,” Bronn managed. “Snow fell on us all the way and wolves snacked on the edges of our camps. Fifty two men as of last night.”</p>
<p class="western">She frowned. “That's awful.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime nodded, agreeing, but those wolves had not bothered him as much as the one in his dreams. Jon Stark's white direwolf was still visiting him, telling him every night to head north when a raven speaks of doom. He had come to the conclusion that the raven that had initially visited him in his dreams was the one the wolf was speaking about.</p>
<p class="western">Jaime leaned forward, arms resting on the table to get more comfortable. “Forgive me, My lady, but what is your name?” he asked. It was all he could do to not complain about the aches plague his body because of the day's riding.</p>
<p class="western">“Ryella of house Royce.” She jostled the babe in her arms slightly. “This little one is Hostella,” she nodded at the two boys then the older girl, “those two are Androw &amp; Alyn and that is Ryella, she is our eldest.”</p>
<p class="western">“Beside the hair, she is the image of you,” Jaime commented. Ryella, the adult, smiled warmly.</p>
<p class="western">“I'm sure if ever had son, Lord Jaime, he would take after you.”</p>
<p class="western">Suddenly her smile looked fake.</p>
<p class="western">Before long, Lord Arwood announced that the stew was ready. His children abandoned their toys to seat themselves at the table, clearly well accustomed to doing so when supper was about to be served. Ryella placed Hostella in a fenced off section of the room to free her arms. Seven steaming bowls of stew were place on the table. Swimming in the broth, Jaime saw chunks of pork, broccoli, radish, turnip and potatoe. Ryella poured wine &amp; ale for the adults; warm water for the children. The last thing dished out were heels of golden brown bread that looked freshly cooked and were still warm.</p>
<p class="western">Before anyone could eat, Ryella led a prayer to the Seven. Her children joined her with high-pitched voices, speaking more quickly and jumbling words, so the prayer became difficult to listen to. Only once the messy prayer was finished did Lord Arwood say, “Tuck in.” Jaime gripped a wooden spoon and scooped up a piece of potatoe. It had cooled enough that putting it in his mouth didn't burn his tongue. He smiled, finding the taste pleasant.</p>
<p class="western">“So how has your search for Arya Stark been going, Lord Arwood?” Jaime asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Horribly,” the Lord of the Crossing replied, bitter. “My men are stretched thin across the Riverlands. Some of the river lords have taken up the search, but I expect it is so they don't look like they aren't taking orders from the liege lord. Most of them are still bitter about the War of the Five Kings and the Red Wedding. Even letting Edmure Tully return to Riverrun has not appeased them.”</p>
<p class="western">At that, Jaime raised an eyebrow. “You let Edmure Tully have Riverrun when he was stripped of it as punishment for aiding Robb Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“He was helping his nephew, what else did you expect him to do? Besides, Riverrun belongs to me to do with as I will and I do not like the idea of keeping my uncle locked up while he has a son to look after. If you must know, Edmure is not Lord of Riverrun, my Uncle Ser Whalen is.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime squinted. “How old are you, My Lord? If you don't my asking.”</p>
<p class="western">“Twenty five. If my being a lord at such a young age is an issue for you, Lord Jaime, then I'm afraid you will just have to suffer it with grace. Arya Stark took the liberty of killing a large number of my kinsman who were ahead of me in the line of succession. Yes, I have family still alive that were ahead of me in the line of succession, but they weren't at the Twins the night of the poisoning or are much younger than I am. My being here the night Arya Stark killed my family members is the reason I am Lord of the Crossing. Someone had to take initiative. I had men out looking the little she-wolf before first light.”</p>
<p class="western">“And you've come up with nothing.”</p>
<p class="western">“No. Ser Brendon came upon her in the afternoon of the following day but the outlaws known as the Brotherhood without Banners intervened and ran off his company. She has eluded us ever since.”</p>
<p class="western">Bronn sipped his wine. “How do you know it is Arya Stark who you're looking for?” he asked. “This could be some commoners get or the daughter of some river lordling who was killed in the camps during the Red Wedding.”</p>
<p class="western">“The serving women described the girl who claimed responsiblity as brown haired &amp; long faced and said that she referred to Lady Catelyn as her mother and that the North remembers. Believe it or not Ser Bronn, I am not a half-wit. I can put pieces of information together and come to a reasonable conclusion.”</p>
<p class="western">“Where do you expect that the Brotherhood took Arya Stark?” Jaime asked.</p>
<p class="western">“It's anyone's guess but I would expect that she'd be heading north.” His mouth twitched. Jaime noticed.</p>
<p class="western">“What is the matter Lord Arwood?”</p>
<p class="western">“I sent a raven to Jon Stark asking him to come to the Twins and answer for his sister's crime. I apologised for the Red Wedding and told him I'd set Edmure Tully free and all I have received is silence.”</p>
<p class="western">“What did you expect? And why did you not go to Her Grace with your request to make King Jon answer for the crime?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because Lord Jaime, pardon me for being blunt, I did not trust her to take me seriously and I was bloody surprised to hear you would be coming north at all. Your sister is an incompetent ruler who I have no respect for. Call that treason if you wish, but its the truth. The only reason she is on that throne is because no body was in King's Landing to challenge her. It is her own fault that the faith reached such levels of power which lead to her humiliation with that walk of atonement they put her through.</p>
<p class="western">“Besides, she is a Queen only in name. Ravens have been sent and received. Everyone is waiting for the Dragon Queen to take King's Landing so that they can swear fealty to her. They won't take their men to fight for her only because winter is here and they are more worried about keeping their families and smallfolk alive and warm. I'm not going to fight for her until I've found Arya Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">Jaime looked down at the table, almost shamefully. “I will not call it treason,” he said. “Even I do not want my sister on the throne.” Ryella looked shocked at that, despite being occupied with her three children. Arwood was unphased.</p>
<p class="western">“If when you return to King's Landing, you decide to remove her from the throne, I will support you Lord Jaime.”</p>
<p class="western">“Are you sure that you want the son of the man who helped plan the Red Wedding as a king?”</p>
<p class="western">Arwood smirked. “So you picked up the true purpose of the bread and salt I had you eat.”</p>
<p class="western">“It wasn't exactly subtle.”</p>
<p class="western">Arwood laughed. “I thought as much, but it needed to be done. House Frey's reputation needs to be repaired. I may hate your father, but that doesn't mean I hate you, Lord Jaime. I will not blame the son for the sins of his father and I am on of the few people who will not call you Kingslayer.”</p>
<p class="western">“That is good to hear.” By now, they were mopping up the remaining broth with their bread. “So where do you want me to take my search, Lord Arwood?” Jaime asked. “You've had my men camp on the eastern side of the river, so I can only guess you want me and men to patrol the Kingsroad.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. My own men will be brought back south and focus on the Kingsroad south of the Trident. I believe it unlikely that the she-wolf would want to travel south, but I have neglected to send many men in that direction. I don't supposed you remember encountering anyone that could be her or the Brotherhood without Banners on the journey here?”</p>
<p class="western">“Beric Dondarion is too smart to travel the Kingsroad when he knows he's a wanted man,” Bronn answered. “The only wolves we met on the road were the ones who made dinner out of our men.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>There was that girl on the side of the road</em>
  <span>, Jaime remembered, </span>
  <em>but she had red hair and looked a commoner</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>What else did your serving women say of the Stark girl?” Jaime asked.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>She supposedly removed a perfect mask of a different face, changing her voice as well. Any mummer can manipulate their voice but we did find two leather masks, the one she removed and another she'd thrown on the dais. The serving women said the mask she removed looked like a normal face while she was wearing it.” Ryella removed the children from the table, leaving her husband, Jaime &amp; Bronn to speak as she cleared up the bowls.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>A mask that looks like a normal face?” Bronn repeated.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Arwood nodded. “Hair, eyes, everything.”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>The girl could have been Arya if she can change her face.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>It doesn't matter,” Jaime asserted. “I assume you want me and my men to begin our searching tomorrow.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Yes.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Then that is what I'll do.”</span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Jon IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon and his men arrive at Castle Black.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Jon</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The Wall was a faint blue line stretching across the horizon from west to east like the edge of a blade. Jon smiled. <em>Home</em>, he thought.<em> At least one of them</em>. The prospect of the returning to Castle Black had become more appealing as he got closer to it. His being murdered then brought back to life was still a troubling memory, but the men who'd done it were dead and he no longer looked at the Night's Watch main seat in the poor light he had during the immediate aftermath of his resurrection.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The clouds had broken today, allowing the Sun's brilliant yellow light to fall on the land from a pale blue sky. Jon was glad for it. Clouds were scattered here &amp; there in the sky; fluffy, white things that were much more pleasant to look at than the moody, grey ones that had covered the sky and dropped snow on them in recent weeks. The clouds being like this allowed Jon a clear view of the red comet, bleeding across the sky and reminding him of the stab wounds that littered his torso after he woke from death. Those wounds had healed, now only narrow patches of pale, white scar tissue.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Following the beheading of Harlan, none of the prisoners Bronson had named had decided to follow through on an attempt to kill Jon. Not wanting to be incautious, he still kept Ghost close by whenever he slept. That led the direwolf to reserving his hunts for the day time when he wasn't needed by Jon. Following this change in Ghost's routine, Jon had tasted blood during the day instead of the evening, if he tasted blood at all. He developed a strange feeling that his tasting blood had something to do with Ghost.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Coming upon Mole's Town, the small village was a decayed ruin of rotten wooden buildings swallowed up by snow that had not been cleared away. Ghost ran ahead and cleared out a pack of wolves that had made a den in one of the unused homes. The white direwolf was now as large as a small horse, so only the largest of the wolves in the pack tried standing up to Ghost while the other wolves carried pups to safety. Even then, the large wolves retreated once they knew the pups were safely away. After clearing out the buildings, Ghost disappeared inside one of them and Jon tasted blood again. He brought his horse to a stop and dismounted. The snow came up nearly to his knees.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>What is is Jon?” Edd asked, still on his horse. The train of carriages came to a stop.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Ghost has found something,” Jon replied with certainty, though he wasn't sure where the certainty came from.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The direwolf soon emerged from the building, dragging a half eaten deer carcass that the wolf pack had been feeding off. It was leaking blood, turning the snow in its wake dark red. Ghost stepped away from the carcass as Jon approached. Unfortunately, the meat on the deer didn't look good enough to butcher, so only the direwolf would be able to eat it. “It's no good to us Ghost,” Jon told him. “You can eat as much you want.” That's just what Ghost did, digging his snout into the dark flesh and ripping it off the bone before chewing, blood soaking his white fur red. Jon mounted back up and the carriage train continued north toward the Wall. The direwolf came running to the front of the carriage train once it left the town.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Eventually Castle Black came into sight, sitting at the base of the Wall and looking much like a child's toy compared to the tower structure of ice. The grey stone of the castle walls looked sad &amp; cold, empty &amp; almost dead. </span>
  <em>Not for much longer</em>
  <span>, Jon thought to himself. The men he'd brought to the Wall would see to that. A single horn blast sounded as they got closer, letting the castle's inhabitants know of the approaching train of carriages.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The gates were already open, the outriders already dismounted in the yard. Sworn brothers were standing in a semi-circle to watch the rest of the train enter. The guard above the gate called down to Jon, welcoming him back home. Jon replied with a nod and a, “It's good to be home.” The guard then welcomed back Edd and the other men who'd escorted Bran to Winterfell. Inside the courtyard, the crowd of those wearing black looked sparse. </span>
  <em>That is about to change.</em>
  <span> Jon &amp; Edd brought their horses to a stop and dismounted. Stablehands came to collect them.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>As the rest of the men entered the courtyard, every pair of eyes had fell; on Jon. Suddenly there was an awkward feeling in the air. He saw smiles, blank expressions and half sneers. </span>
  <em>The greeting I was expecting</em>
  <span>. Jon raised his voice to say, “As you were.” Most of the black cloaks did as they were bid but a handful were staring at him with disdain, hands dangerously close to their sword hilts. Jon frowned.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>If you're going to try to behead me for being a deserter, best not,” he warned them. “You'll have to kill the fifty four soldiers I've brought with me and any of your sworn brothers who are loyal to me.” He looked at Ghost who was slightly crouched, his tail raised high and teeth almost bared. “You will also have to get past Ghost first.” The hands retreated and the men went about their business. Jon nodded, satisfied, before turning to Edd. “Get your First, Ranger, Builder and Steward to the top of the Wall.”</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Edd nodded and went to find them. Jon found the captain of his soldiers and took him to the winch cage. Ghost huddled in with them and they rode the cage to the top of the Wall. The wind grew stronger. The cold got sharper. Jon pulled his cloak tight and so did the captain. “So this is what I'll be looking forward to while I'm here, Your Grace?” he said.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>It is Rodwell,” Jon replied. “But I fear it won't be for long.”</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>They reached the top of the Wall and Jon led the way to the nearest watch position, finding two men on duty. They were watching the land to the north, one holding a spear, the other manning the horn. Trees stretched to the far horizon. Mountains stood tall in the distance. Jon breathed in a lungful of the cold air and exhaled with a pleased sigh. </span>
  <em>Home indeed</em>
  <span>. It was not long before Edd approached with three others entow: the First Ranger, Builder and Steward. </span>
  <em>Kedge, Halder &amp; Clydas.</em>
  <span> They were holding themselves tightly, trying to keep themselves warm.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Lord Commander,” Kedge managed, speaking loudly to be heard over the wind.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Kedge, Halder, Clydas,” Jon replied. “It is good to see you all.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>And you Lord Commander,” Clydas said, quietly. “It is so good to see you after your victory against the Boltons.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>What have called you us here for, My Lord?” Halder asked, straight to the point.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>This is Captain Rodwell,” Jon said, holding his hand toward Rodwell. “He is the captain of the forty eight other men I'll be leaving here to help man the castle. Make him a part of every meeting and make his men feel welcome in the castle.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Who were the men you had in chains?” Kedge questioned.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Prisons. Thirty seven of them from the Winterfell dungeon and Wintertown lock up. Expect more to arrive from all the other lords of the North. They should be trained in sword, spear and bow then put in black cloaks.” </span></p>
<p class="western">“What are all the barrels for?” Halder asked. “Your soldiers were loading them off of the carriages.</p>
<p class="western">“The barrels are water and pitch. When we were at Hardhome, the White Walkers' weapons shattered steel. Our gates are made of steel. I want you to pour the water &amp; pitch inside the tunnel and seal it tight. I sent Tormund Giantsbane to Eastwatch with the same orders and expect a raven sent to Shadow Tower telling them to do the same.”</p>
<p class="western">“You'd leave us blind to the woods,” Kedge said. “Why?”</p>
<p class="western">“We brought all the Free Folk we could this side of the Wall. If no more have come by now then I doubt we're like to see anymore trying to cross. If we don't seal the tunnel then the Walkers can simply tap the steel gates with their spears and they'll be able to walk right through. I also want ravens prepared to send to Eastwatch and Shadow Tower at a moments notice.”</p>
<p class="western">“Bearing what message Lord Commander?” Clydas asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Abandon the Wall. Retreat to Winterfell.” The words unsettled them all. “Signal the order with four horn blasts. Tell Shadow Tower and Eastwatch to prepare ravens with identical messages. If the Walkers find a way to get past the Wall then I don't want them adding more numbers to their army after they've finished killing you all. You should prepare another raven to send to Winterfell to inform me that the Wall has been abandoned.”</p>
<p class="western">“How do you know the Walkers will find a way to pass the Wall?” Edd asked.</p>
<p class="western">“It is only a precaution. But if they do pass the Wall, I feel like that'll have something to do with it.” Jon pointed to the sky directly above him. Everyone looked up to see him pointing at the red comet, bleeding like a fresh wound in the sky.</p>
<p class="western">“My Lord,” Clydas spoke up, looking back at Jon. “We have received ravens from both Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower. Both reported a group of three White Walkers emerging from the Haunted Forest only to retreat back into the trees. Eastwatch also reports blue lights lining the coasts below Storrold's Point.”</p>
<p class="western">“That will be the army of the dead travelling down from Hardhome. And if there were White Walkers at Shadow Tower then parts of the army are scattered. Now they must be all joining together. I'd expect the hammer to fall here.”</p>
<p class="western">“What will we do when it does, My Lord? Even with the extra men you have brought us, there is no way we can defend against the army of the dead in our current state.”</p>
<p class="western">“By now, Ser Davos Seaworth should be on Dragonstone, mining the dragonglass on the island. Once it arrives in Winterfell, we will begin making it into weapons. I will also call my bannermen when the time is right. Once we are properly organised, we will march on the Wall and begin manning the rest of the fortresses lining it. If the Gods are kind, we will also have soldiers from the South marching with us.”</p>
<p class="western">“How do you mean, Lord Commander?” Halder asked.</p>
<p class="western">“I intend to speak with Jaime Lannister about bringing an army North.”</p>
<p class="western">“The Kingslayer?” Kedge said, shocked. “Didn't his family nearly bring your own to an end?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, but that doesn't matter. All of Westeros is threatened by the White Walkers and their army, everyone is in equal danger. There is no choice in who we fight beside. Lannisters, Tyrells, Martells, anyone.”</p>
<p class="western">Clydas stepped forward. “My Lord, you've been on the road for the last three weeks, so you haven't heard this,” he said. “Daenerys Targaryen has landed in Dorne. The raven sent to us by the Maester in Sunspear has promised that any men who surrender when Daenerys attacks King's Landing will sent to us to take the black. If Daenerys is set to attack the city then there is little chance of Jaime Lannister coming to our aid while his sister's throne is at risk.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon frowned. “Be that as it may, I will still speak to Jaime Lannister.” Clydas nodded. “Is there anything else to report?”</p>
<p class="western">“No, My Lord.”</p>
<p class="western">“When will you be leaving?” Edd asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Tomorrow. I have two siblings to watch out for and a kingdom to rule.”</p>
<p class="western">“Is they're anything else you want us to do? Anymore orders?”</p>
<p class="western">“Send some men to Queensgate and Oakenshield to being repairing.” Edd nodded. Halder nodded. “You are all dismissed. I'd like to stand on my Wall in solitude.”</p>
<p class="western">Edd, Kedge, Halder, Clydas &amp; Rodwell shuffled off to the winch cage, leaving Jon to the solitude he requested. Even the men who were on duty moved down to the next watch position to leave Jon be. Ghost stayed put, sitting on his haunches and staring out at the Haunted Forest. Looking down at the direwolf, Jon smiled. “Savior the view, boy,” he said softly. “It's the last you'll get to see of it for a good while.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon then took his own advice and looked upon the land north of the Wall. He wondered how close the White Walkers were. <em>If the Gods are good, they still have a long way to travel. Long enough to allow me to gather an army large enough to combat them. </em>It scared him to no end that the White Walkers could attack before they were ready to fight back. <em>I hope you can find the Long Night in the past Bran. We need to know how to stop them... if there is a way to stop them at all.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Sandor III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sandor reaches Winterfell.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Sandor</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Winterfell appeared from behind the brow of a far hill with its grey stone walls and tall towers. The last he'd it seen was when Ned Stark had gone South to be Robert's hand. Back then the castle had been a miserable place he was glad to be leaving, but now Sandor rode toward it with more purpose than he could ever recall having for a goal. The Gods had been kind, dropping only light snows upon the Kingsroad between Moat Cailin &amp; Winterfell. It allowed him to travel a consistent distance each day so the journey took only two weeks. He rode hard and rested well, sleeping on the side of the road as he had done in the Neck. His horse was a reliable mount and seemed to share the same drive he did. Throughout the journey, Sandor's thoughts strayed little from his goal: <em>Reach Winterfell and swear your sword.</em></p>
<p class="western">Judging by Sansa's letter, Sandor knew his safety was guaranteed, at least until her brother returned from the Wall. <em>And hopefully she can convince him to hold off the sword, at least for a little while. </em>Either way, Sandor knew he would spend the rest of his life – however long that may be – in the service of the northern crown. <em>And At least this King will not be an insufferable little cunt.</em></p>
<p class="western">The castle disappeared again as his horse descended a hill. A fear gripped Sandor: Sansa might not be there. Maybe she was off at a different castle speaking with a lord. Maybe she'd had an accident and died. Maybe the castle had been infiltrated by an assassin sent by Cersei to get rid of the rebellious Princess. These thoughts filled his head, worry growing in his bones. If any of those hypotheticals were true, he did not know what he would do. His entry into Winterfell depended on her and the permission slip she had written him. All of this only served to make Sandor push his mount faster &amp; harder.</p>
<p class="western">Now he knew how Arya had felt when they'd been sitting on the hill overlooking the Twins before her mother and brother were murdered. He was glad he hadn't gone down to the Twins sooner than he did. If Arya had been at that feast she would have been killed and there would have been one more Stark murdered that night.</p>
<p class="western">The hooves of his horse kicked snow into the air. It breathed heavily as they summitted the next hill and there Winterfell was again. As he got closer, Sandor could make out the finer details of the castle. There was a town close in front of it that he hadn't seen until now. It sat in a swallow valley between two short hills: the northern of those hills being the one Winterfell sat on. He would have to travel through the two. Galloped, the horse's lungs heaved along with Sandor's. “Yah! Yah!” he told the stallion, snapping at the reins.</p>
<p class="western">The town grew closer and closer. The castle grew closer and closer. The rest of his life grew closer and closer.</p>
<p class="western">He made the final hill's descent and it brought him to the town. A central road ran through it, leading directly up the next hill to Winterfell's gates. As he pasted the first buildings he yelled to those in front of him: “Move! Move!” They obliged him, sensing the urgency in his voice. As he left the town and began up the final hill, he muttered to himself, “Nearly there. Nearly there.”</p>
<p class="western">Sandor reached the last summit and saw workmen digging a trench; wooden posts were sticking out of the ground to mark the boundaries they were to dig out. A portion of land remained where the road was. He travelled along it, slowing his pace before bringing his mount to a stop at the open gates. Two men stood guard with spears, dressed in boiled leather &amp; chainmail underneath plate armour. One had brown hair, the other had straw blonde hair, a modest beard and close set brown eyes sitting either side of a nose that had been broken several times.</p>
<p class="western">“What you 'ere for?” the straw blonde asked, taking a step forward.</p>
<p class="western">“To see Princess Sansa,” Sandor answered, breathing heavily after his hard riding. He pulled out the slip of parchment she'd signed. “She told me to show you this.”</p>
<p class="western">The guard took it and looked it over. He frowned. “Can you read, Gage?” the straw blonde asked his partner.</p>
<p class="western">“I can't,” the brown haired guard said. He looked up at Sandor. The wrinkles on his face spoke to being on the cusp of old age. “What's your name, son?”</p>
<p class="western">“Sandor Clegane. The Hound.”</p>
<p class="western">The guards gave each other looks. “I thought you were a Lannister man. What are you doing up here?” Gage asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Ask your Princess and she'll tell you I left the Lannisters after the Blackwater,” Sandor replied. “If you want to know what the slip says, it tells you to allow me entry to the castle.”</p>
<p class="western">Gage frowned. “I don't mean to call you a liar, Clegane, but I can't exactly trust your word.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do you have a master-at-arms? A Captain of the Guard? Surely one of them know how to read?”</p>
<p class="western">Both the guards nodded. Gage looked at the straw blonde. “Bronson, go fetch Ser Kyle. He'll be in the main courtyard supervising the training. I'll stay here with Clegane. Take that slip and show him.” Bronson nodded and went off into the castle. Gage looked at Clegane again. “Dismount. You can walk your horse inside.”</p>
<p class="western">Sandor nodded then dismounted. Taking the reins in one hand, he led the horse underneath the archway of the gate. The courtyard was filled with a great number of smallfolk and castle workers. He saw children running through the snow chased by their parents, horses being lead by stablehands, people training at archery butts and guards walking about, inspecting this &amp; that. It wasn't long before the guard called Bronson returned from archway leading to the heart of the castle. Beside him was a tall, well dressed man, his cloak made of sable, a direwolf on his tunic and a longsword on his hip. Once the pair reached the gate, the man in the sable cloak told the two guards to get back on the gate before addressing Sandor.</p>
<p class="western">“Clegane,” he said. “I am Ser Kyle Condon, the Master-at-arms here in Winterfell.”</p>
<p class="western">“You know who I am,” Sandor replied. “Now will you take me to the Princess?”</p>
<p class="western">“She's holding court at the moment, but I can take you to the great hall where you can wait to speak to her. A stablehand will take your horse.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good. Let's not waste any more time.”</p>
<p class="western">Ser Kyle nodded, agreeing.</p>
<p class="western">When Sandor entered the great hall through the main entrance, he found it crowded mostly by smallfolk, guards standing against the walls. Whatever tables would usually be in the room were cleared away to allow the crowd space to stand. “... you are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish,” Sansa told the family standing in front of the high table as he walked in. She looked toward him after finishing and her mouth curved into a small smile. “I'll speak with you once I've finished holding court. For now just wait there. Ser Kyle, please return to the yard.” The Master-at-arms bowed then left the hall. Another family of smallfolk walked forward and Sansa repeated a similar response to their request to stay in the castle.</p>
<p class="western">Sandor noted the people sitting at the high table with Sansa. Brienne of Tarth was on Sansa's left, staring at him with a look that was half shock, half contempt. Sandor smirked and gave her a small nod, remembering the fight he had with her in the Vale. An empty space on Sansa's right separated her from a large Lord with short, white hair and a large forehead. He was wearing a chestplate despite not being in battle. Last of all, on the Lord's right was Winterfell's Maester. His hairline had retreated half-way across his scalp, though it was made up for by a good beard.</p>
<p class="western">Sandor lost count of how many people asked to stay in the castle during the winter. When a lordling emerged from the crowd, Sansa's face lit up a small bit, glad she didn't have to try to come up with a different way to word the response 'You are welcome to stay in the castle until winter comes to an end.' The lording asked for some help transporting food &amp; smallfolk to Winterfell from his own land and Sansa promised him as many men as he needed. A few more lordlings asked for similar aid and Sansa granted them what they asked for.</p>
<p class="western">“With that case, this session of court is adjourned,” Sansa announced once she'd seen to the last of the lordlings. “The next session of court will be in two days time and begin an hour after fast is broken. I will be holding it again, beside those you see with me.”</p>
<p class="western">The crowd began to shuffle and the hall filled with the noise of conversation. Those at the high table stood. The Maester and the white haired Lord gave their Princess a bow before leaving the hall through the Lord's Entrance. Sansa turned her head and found him then raised a hand to gestured for him approach. Sandor shouldered his way through the crowd, upsetting those who he barged too sharply.</p>
<p class="western">Once he reached the table, Sandor finally took a moment to take in how her appearance had changed. She'd grown taller. The features on her pale, white face were more mature, lit up by icy blue eyes complimented perfectly by the blood red hair hanging over her shoulder in a thick braid. The clothes she wore were all made of pale grey wool, a wolf pelt sitting at the top of her cloak. Topping her head was a bronze tiara with iron direwolf running atop it. <em>She's no longer a little bird.</em></p>
<p class="western">“It's good of you to be here, Sandor,” Sansa told him. “If you would be so good as to follow me to my solar. I will speak to you there, away from listening ears.” Without a word from him, she turned to the door way and left the hall. Brienne of Tarth eyed him sternly.</p>
<p class="western">“Brienne of Tarth,” he said.</p>
<p class="western">“Clegane. Looks like I didn't kill you well enough.”</p>
<p class="western">“You'd have to try harder than that.”</p>
<p class="western">“You two!” Sansa called from the corridor. The two them followed.</p>
<p class="western">Sansa's solar was the Lord's solar. The walls were grey stone, the floors dark brown wood. A small dinning table sat next to a large hearth on the left of the chamber, a fire burning inside it. Papers cluttered a desk sitting opposite the main door alongside ink bottles, quills and ledgers. Sandor didn't fail to note the flagon of wine also sitting on the desk. Cold light entered the room through two large windows lining the far wall. Taking a seat at the table, Sansa gestured for Sandor and Brienne to do the same.</p>
<p class="western">“So why didn't you want my arrival known ahead of time by anyone else?” Sandor asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Because I did not want to risk you being met on the road by someone hired to kill you,” Sansa replied.</p>
<p class="western">“I'm touched,” he said, mostly with sarcasm. “Will you not mind me calling you 'Little Bird' from now on? You called yourself it in your letter to me.”</p>
<p class="western">“That was me using a piece of advice given to my brother by my first husband. I thought that if I referred to myself as 'Little Bird,' you'd be less inclined to insult me once you arrived.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why do you want me alive?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because I need as many trustworthy people that I can get round myself and my brothers, both advisors and protectors. Littlefinger is here in Winterfell and it is his ambition to make me ruler of the North. I thought that if he heard of you making your way to Winterfell, he would think that removing you would only help him.” Her expression softened. “Ser Donald's raven said you know where Arya is.”</p>
<p class="western">Sandor nodded. “She's in King's Landing,” he told her. “After she's done her business there, she'll be coming north.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why didn't you bring her here with you?” Brienne asked pointedly.</p>
<p class="western">“Because she's now a woman grown and neither I or the men I was travelling with were going to treat her like a child,” Sandor answered.</p>
<p class="western">“You were with others?” Sansa asked.</p>
<p class="western">“The Brotherhood without Banners. Do you remember when your father sent men out to bring my brother to justice at the beginning of the war?” Sansa nodded. “They are what's left of those men. They spent the last few years bringing people who would harm smallfolk to justice and since Arya slaughtered the Freys, they had nothing left to do in the Riverlands. They decided to honour your father by declaring for your brother.”</p>
<p class="western">Her mouth hung open. “So Arya did kill the Freys?”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes.”</p>
<p class="western">She swallowed. “You're alone now. What happened to the Brotherhood?”</p>
<p class="western">“They turned back south a few days after we crossed the Trident. The Red Woman found us and asked to be escorted south. She said something about convincing the Targaryen girl to come north and help you fight against this army of the dead.”</p>
<p class="western">“Dragons in the north?” Sansa let out a small chuckle. “They'll help set wights on fire at the very least.”</p>
<p class="western">“Where did Arya go after I fought you in the Vale?” Breinne asked. “Pod and I couldn't find her.”</p>
<p class="western">“Braavos. Trained to be a faceless man. It's how she managed what she did at the Twins.” He looked at Sansa, then at the sword on his hip. “Do you think we could get the swearing of my sword over and done with?” Sansa nodded.</p>
<p class="western">She and Sandor stood only to pull out his sword before kneeling into front of Sansa, laying the sword at her feet. Looking up at her, Sandor said what he needed to: “In the name of whatever Gods that care, I, Sandor of the House Clegane, do offer myself to the service of the King in the North, Jon Stark, through his sister, Princess Sansa. Will you accept my sword, Princess?”</p>
<p class="western">“In the name and on the behalf of King Jon, my brother, I accept you into the service of the northern crown. ” Sandor stood, sheathing his sword.</p>
<p class="western">“What will I be? A man-at-arms.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa shook her head. “I have something I mean to suggest to Jon once he returns for the Wall that you may be a part of. For now, I want you in the yard, helping to train our recruits. Jon ordered all able-bodied men and women to be trained in combat and I'm not sure there would be anything better for you to do while we wait for Jon to return.”</p>
<p class="western">Sandor gave a rough laugh. “Alright. I'll train your green boys, just so long as I get to shout at them if they're fucking terrible .”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa smiled. “If that's how you want to go about it, be my guest, so long as it works. You will still have to answer to Ser Kyle though. As much as I know you hate knights, he is the person Jon put in charge of leading the training.”</p>
<p class="western">“So long as that Ser Kyle isn't a cunt, I'll be happy until your brother gets here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. The Dispritied Victor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The victors from Highgarden arrive at King's Landing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>The Dispirited Victor</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The walls of King's Landing were a sight he'd expected to look upon with pride when he departed Horn Hill. Instead, he looked upon them feeling depressed and inadequate, his first experience in being a soldier proving a failure despite victory in battle. Dickon knew he wasn't the only person feeling like this. Everyone in the column of horse, carriage and foot was dispirited following their taking of Highgarden.</p>
<p class="western">The total number of men lost was had been nearing seven hundred by the time they departed for King's Landing. The snow at the base of the first two walls was a light pink because of all the blood that had soaked in. Ser Tanton's died from infection three days after receiving his eye wound, before the main portion of the army had left Highgarden. Dickon was hit particular hard by that loss, mainly because Ser Tanton had stuck close to him through the battle. <em>You've got to get used to it now. There will only be more like Ser Tanton in future.</em></p>
<p class="western">Once the peace banner brought the fighting to a stop, Lord Randyll had ridden straight to the main keep. The first he did was take the head of Ser Vortimer for treason and for his choice to not surrender leading to the deaths the battle resulted in. After that, soldiers were sent to search the vaults for food and gold. The only food they found was enough to feed the garrison for a year and the gold they found only came to a total of a hundred thousand dragons. Those dragons were taken to King's Landing, none the less. Six thousand men arrived at Highgarden and four thousand left. The men who remained at the castle consisted mostly of Fossoway men supported by some Lannister soldiers.</p>
<p class="western">They entered King's Landing through the River gate. The guards posted there cleared smallfolk out of the way to allow the army to pass through. The column's horse hooves were not the first things to disturb the blanket of snow coating the streets of the city. There was little in wagons and wayns was they passed homes &amp; shops &amp; taverns. People who stood in the streets retreated indoors when they saw the approaching column of soldiers. Dickon was at the front, beside his father &amp; Ser Addam, so he could watch them all disappeared. From the faces he could make out in the distance, they were tired and scared. Dickon could not blame them.</p>
<p class="western">They progressed had been slowed considerably for a portion of the journey from Highgarden. The last half week turned into the last week thanks the worst snowstorm that Dickon had ever seen. They's just entered the Kingswood when it hit them. No doubt the city suffered some of it as well. There had never been a time in Dickon's life where he had felt that cold. The column lost more than a hundred horses trying to get through the Kingswood and the carriages could not go a day without getting stuck. The outriders did very little in the way of easing the main column's passage because of a combination of their own slow passage and the falling snow undoing their breaking of the snow.</p>
<p class="western">As their horses walked along the Hook, Dickon kept an eye on the Red Keep, towering over the city as if it were a watchful guardian, its pale red stone frosted by snow like a cake; at least that was the impression Dickon had gotten of the ancient castle during his prior visits to the city. Now all it seem a menacing presence, look down upon the people of King's Landing with contempt for their mere exsistence. <em>It's Queen Cersei, that's what it is. She hates the her own subjects. Ser Addam said so. </em>Toward the far end of the Hook, as they began climbing Aegon's High Hill, Dickon heard the distant rumble of an army crowd. He raised his arm, hand in a fist, to bring the column to a stop.</p>
<p class="western">“What is it, Dickon?” Father asked beside him.</p>
<p class="western">“Don't you hear it? There's a large crowd somewhere near the castle,” Dickon told him.</p>
<p class="western">“Aye,” Ser Addam said. “That's not surprising. The smallfolk have been rioting at the gates ever since Cersei destroyed the Sept.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll frowned then turned to Ser Addam. “Get me two hundred men on horseback to come to the front of the column. We will arrange ourselves into a four abreast column and charge at the crowd without any weapons drawn. Provided they aren't all simple, they'll disperse the moment they recognise we're charging at them.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes My Lord,” Ser Addam replied before ride down the side of the column, bellowing orders to horsemen. Lord Randyll urged his Son and the column's thirty outriders to the end of the Hook. Deep in his stomach, Dickon a knot being tied. <em>We are about to charge at smallfolk.</em> The thought made him anxious. Though Father may claim the crowd would disperse, Dickon was not confident that people in the crowd would go unharmed. The knot only got tight as more horsemen came up Aegon's Hill to meet them at the end of the Hook. Lord Randyll occupied himself by organise the men into the formation he wanted, but Dickon was left to wait at the front, having nothing to do before the ranks formed and Lord Randyll ordered them to move.</p>
<p class="western">Dickon urged his horse onto the road leading up Aegon's Hill from the centre of the city. Without buildings in the way, the noise from the crowd could travel more freely toward him. <em>All those people. All them want is to be cared about by whoever rules them. </em>It was a desire he could sympathise with, but it was a shame that their rioting was the only way Cersei would notice them; even then, not in the way they wanted to be noticed.</p>
<p class="western">“Dickon!” Lord Randyll shouted from the head of the column. Dickon returned to his Father's side.</p>
<p class="western">“The crowd sounds very large Father,” Dickon told him. “Are you sure two hundred men will be enough?” Lord Randyll nodded. “Alright.”</p>
<p class="western">Father offered a small smile before turning his attention to the horsemen who were now in formation. “On my order, we will charge at full tilt but with no weapons drawn. If any man draws a sword, you will lose the hand that draws it. The objective of this charge is to produce as much noise as possible when we approach the Red Keep's gate. Once the crowd as dispersed, I want men from the back of the column to block side streets and prevent those in the crowd returning to the main street. Do I make myself clear?” There was a rumble of acknowledgements that went down the line of horsemen. “Good. Move off!”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon joined his Father in leading the column. “Where is Ser Addam?” Dickon asked as they moved onto the street leading to the Red Keep.</p>
<p class="western">“He is leading rest of the column,” Lord Randyll answered. “Please be quiet until we're past the gates.” Dickon nodded. It was only a few minutes more before Lord Randyll looked over his shoulder. Confident that the whole formation had left the Hook, he bellowed his order as loudly as his lungs would allow. “CHARGE!”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon urged his horse on with spurs and reins, getting her into a gallop. The incline of the hill served against his favour, but soon the mare was at a full gallop. Beside him &amp; behind him, the rest of those in the column were doing the same. Out of necessity, the column spread out to be wider, but not too much wider, because some men further back travelled faster than those in front of them. Men began to shout and the shouting caught on, wordless cries that added to the cacophony created by horse hooves beating through the snow, against the ground. Dickon added his own voice to the chorus.</p>
<p class="western">When the hill finally levelled out, Dickon saw how big the crowd was. <em>At least two hundred people. </em>He swallowed. The noise of the crowd had been overpowered by the noise of the charge and people in the crowd were beginning to look back and see the approaching horses. Their immediate reaction was to move off into the side streets. <em>Notice us. Move out of the way. Please.</em></p>
<p class="western">The Gods heard Dickon's prayer.</p>
<p class="western">The crowd broke.</p>
<p class="western">Men &amp; woman began moving into the side streets, not wanting to be trampled by horse hooves. The people in the centre knew they had the poor chance of moving out of the way in time, so it led to them pushing &amp; shoving out the people blocking their way. As a result, people began to stumble &amp; fall. <em>No, no, no, no.</em> The crowd was all ready considerably thinner than before, only getting more so as the column of riders got closer to it, but Dickon could see people in the snow who'd been pushed over.</p>
<p class="western">The charge reached the place where the crowd had been. People were still in the way. Dickon had to adjust his horses path to avoid hitting people. Out the corner of his eye, he saw horses jumping to avoid people still lying on the floor. Ahead, the gates were opening. Soldiers were rushing out to ward off anyone stragglers with ideas of slipping inside. The column slowed and narrowed to fit inside the gate. Dickon and his Father passed underneath the archway of the gates, entering the main bailey of the Red Keep. The horses' hooves were the first to disturb the perfect blanket of snow on the ground, creating a line of tracks that went across the entire bailey. Wheeling his horse around, Dickon watched as the rest of the men passed through the gates. Looking down at his horses hooves, they were clean of any blood, so his mind was eased of the possibility that he trampled someone to death.</p>
<p class="western">It was not long after they entrance when a man in braavosi clothing came up to the pair of them. His brown hair was receding and his hands were clasped together behind his back. “Welcome to King's Landing, My Lords of Tarly,” he said cheerfully.</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll observed the man then asked, “Who are you, My Lord?”</p>
<p class="western">“I am no lord, My Lord. Simply a humble servant of the Iron Bank. My name is Tycho Nestoris. Should which to refer to me by a title, Master Nestoris would be the most appropriate.” Nestoris observed the carriages as the entered the bailey. “I must admit that I was not expecting you to be here so quickly with the gold from Highgarden. Please tell me, how did you achieve victory so quickly?”</p>
<p class="western">“It was a bait by Olenna Tyrell, Master Nestoris,” Dickon replied. “The castle was deliberately undermanned and the vaults housed only enough food to feed the garrison and gold equivalent to a hundred thousand dragons.”</p>
<p class="western">Nestoris frowned immediately. “A hundred thousand?”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon nodded. “Our men turned the vaults inside out and that was all they could find. Olenna must have moved the food and gold to secure locations.”</p>
<p class="western">“We didn't have the time or the energy to try to find the keeps housing it, so we decided to bring the gold we found to the city and begin work of suring up the cities defenses,” Lord Randyll told the banker. “The whole point of the bait was to get Queen Cersei's army away from the city to leave it open to attack from the Dragon Queen.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm sure Queen Cersei would like to hear about this,” Nestoris said.</p>
<p class="western">“We will once all those carriages are inside the castle.”</p>
<p class="western">It took the better part of a half hour for the last of the carriages to enter the bailey. In that time Ser Addam joined Dickon, Lord Randyll and Nestoris in watch the carriages. Dickon asked if there was any smallfolk injured because of the charge and Ser Addam said that he did not see anyone who injured. That laid Dickon's worries completely to rest.</p>
<p class="western">Once all the men were inside the bailey, the gates were closed tight. Lord Randyll, his son and Ser Addam dismounted so their horses could be taken to the stable. The bailey was noisy with the sound of men moving horses and supplies and the gold recovered from Highgarden. Master Nestoris led the way inside the Red Keep, through the corridors of pale red stone decorated by tapestries and up staircases to where Queen Cersei's solar was.</p>
<p class="western">Standing at the door was a very large man in the white enamelled armour of the Kingsguard. <em>It's Queensguard now. </em>A large white cloak flow from the man's broad shoulders like a curtain of snow. His face was completely covered by his helmet except for two bloodshot eyes. <em>This can only be Gregor Clegane with the size of him, but he was supposed to have died from poison coating Oberyn Martell's spear. </em>Nestoris knocked on the solar door and they were called in.</p>
<p class="western">Queen Cersei was sitting at a glass table with her supper in front of her and a glass of red wine. Her blonde hair was short, going no further than the top of her neck. Two bright green eyes observed the four new entries... five new entries. Dickon heard the Mountain walking in behind them, an ominous presence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. <em>He could all our heads off if Cersei ordered him to.</em></p>
<p class="western">“Lord Randyll,” she said, voice delicate and soft. “Ser Addam,” her eye landed on Dickon, “and...”</p>
<p class="western">Dickon bowed. “Dickon Tarly, Your Grace,” he told her. “I am Lord Randyll's son &amp; heir.”</p>
<p class="western">She smiled. “Master Nestoris, it was good of you to show these men to me.” Cersei leaned back, interlacing her fingers and placing them in her lap. “I assume your seige of Highgarden was a success.”</p>
<p class="western">“We took the castle, Your Grace,” Lord Randyll said, “but we were played for fools Your Grace. Olenna Tyrell had left the castle with a small garrison deliberately to lure us into laying seige to it. All we found in the vaults was enough food to feed te the garrison for a year and gold equivalent to a total of one hundred thousand dragons.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei frowned and his hands curled into fists. “And why did you not find out where all the food and gold was sent? Why are you here and not hunting for it?”</p>
<p class="western">“Because our men were tired from battle. The men of the garrison were ignorant to the location of the food &amp; gold, so if we were to attempt finding it we would have to lay seige to every castle held by lords still loyal to the Tyrells. Our own food stores would be exhausted before we could move to the second castle and that's assuming the first seige would be successful. I made the decision to bring the gold we could here to the capital while we could still travel such a distance. Not only that, we need to prepare the city for battle. The whole point of luring an army to Highgarden was to get it away from the city.”</p>
<p class="western">Throughout his speech, Lord Randyll assertively, never faltering. It had the result Dickon assumed his Father wanted to achieve: Cersei sat silent for a considerable amount of time before speaking again. When she did, it was to ask Master Nestoris, “Will the Iron Bank accept the gold procured from Highgarden by Lord Randyll and the men under his command?”</p>
<p class="western">Nestoris stepped way into the open space of the room, pacing a small bit before replying: “One hundred thousand dragons is not the three and a half million you promised, but it is a start. I will return to Braavos with the gold recovered from Highgarden's vaults, but after that we will not be doing business you until your conflict with the Dragon Queen is resolved.”</p>
<p class="western">Cersei's frown soften somewhat. “How will you return to Braavos? The Narrow Sea is plagued with winter storms at the moment.”</p>
<p class="western">“Be that as it may, I do not wish to be in the city when the Dragon Queen attacks. Given what your man Greyjoy said about the northmen on Dragonstone, I'm sure they would not mind allowing me to make port on the island for a short period of time while waiting for a gap in the storms.”</p>
<p class="western">Father's eyebrows knitted. “There are northmen on Dragonstone? Why hasn't anything been done about them.”</p>
<p class="western">“Euron Greyjoy has been urging me to do something about them,” Cersei said. “He claims they could be taken by surprise but I will not allow an attack on the island. All they're doing on the island is mining. I do not want to spend resources on an enemy that is both weaker than I am and does not pose an immediate threat to me while the Dragon Queen will surely prove powerful opponent. If I attack Dragonstone, there is a chance that surviving northern ships will hang around Blackwater Bay and haggle the ships will have patrolling it. That will weaken our navy for when the Dragon Queen's fleet reaches us.”</p>
<p class="western">“If you leave the northmen be, surely they could join with that fleet when it get here,” Dickon said.</p>
<p class="western">“The fleet is led by Theon &amp; Yara Greyjoy. After Balon Greyjoy's attacking the north during the War of the Five Kings, here is no way in all the seven hells that northmen would willing aid a Greyjoy led fleet.”</p>
<p class="western">“Pardon me, Your Grace, but where is Euron at the moment?” Ser Addam asked.</p>
<p class="western">“He's busy building ships.”</p>
<p class="western">“And where is his dragon binding horn?”</p>
<p class="western">“In a secure location.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll inspected his boots briefly, while raising his eyebrows. “If you not mind Your Grace,” he said, “I request to be put in charge of the city's defenses while Ser Jaime remains in the Riverlands.”</p>
<p class="western">“Your request is granted My Lord.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you.”</p>
<p class="western">“You are excused. See to preparing what defenses you plan to immediately. See Qyburn about the scorpions that are currently being built.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Randyll, Dickon and Ser Addam all bowed and left. In the corridor, Lord Randyll set a quick pace to their walking. Once a decent distance along the corridor, he stopped and said, “What do you make of her decision to leave the northmen be, Ser Addam?”</p>
<p class="western">“She has the right of it,” Ser Addam admitted. “If all the northmen are doing is mining, they pose no immediate threat to us. Antagonising them just means another immediate enemy.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well.” He looked at Dickon. “Dickon, I want you to send a raven to Ser Jaime in the Riverlands. Tell him that I have taken up command of the city's defenses and a wishes him good luck in capturing Arya Stark promptly. The Seven know we need him and his army here as soon as physically possible.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next three chapters will be Bran III, Tyrion II and Jon V in that order. Bran III &amp; Jon V are my two second act midpoints, so we are roughly half-way through this Season 7 rewrite at this point.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Bran III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bran searchs the past and Howland Reed arrives in Winterfell</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was one of my favourite chapters to write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Bran</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He gripped the iron door handle firmly. Taking a deep breath, Bran turned it and pushed the door open ajar. Listening, no sound came from inside, so he pushed the door open the rest of the way. The sight that greeted was of himself lying in bed, still a young boy, his Mother sitting at his bedside; face red with tears. He smiled to see his Mother; only an image of her but still his Mother. Pleased with the contents that this particular door held, Bran stepped back into the corridor and began walking along it yet again.</p><p class="western">The infinity of images that he was met with every time he entered the Weirwood network had proved itself to be quite grating, especially since Bran used the network at least once a day. To solve this issue, he'd begun to force the all moments of past, present and future into appearing as an organised method of delivery. Bran settled on an endless corridor, the doors lining it leading to different moments in time. The walls were grey stone, the floor &amp; doors made of oaken timber. Torches hung in irons scones, lighting the infinite passage. These aesthetic choices occurred by themselves, without any of Bran's influence, so he assumed they were pulled from his recent memory: the corridor was identical to the ones that filled Winterfell. It took a week before the Weirwood network started to appear as the corridor without being forced to by Bran.</p><p class="western">His searching of the past was proving to be difficult and time consuming. He was trying to find answers to questions he had concerning the White Walkers, his plans for the North and his powers, but still he was seeing mostly his immediate family... and his cousin. One of the first doors he opened brought him into the courtyard at Castle Black in the dead of night. A group of men were crowded around a post. Soon Jon walked down a set of stairs, led by a man &amp; a boy to the crowd of men. Bran watched as they put knives into Jon's torso and left him bleeding in the snow.</p><p class="western">Another door Bran had walked through placed him in a crowd standing in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. Upon the steps his father knelt. Sansa stood next to Queen Cersei and Joffrey spoke to those in the crowd. After his speech, the blonde haired King ordered, “Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.” The crowd grew into uproar and Bran watched Sansa's expression turn to grief. Looking around he glimpsed a brown haired girl sitting at the foot of Baelor's statue: Arya. She disappeared into the crowd and Bran couldn't find her again. All he could do was watch as Ser Ilyn brought Ice down upon Lord Eddard's neck, his head dropping onto the floor. After that, Bran collapsed inside the corridor and let his tears soak into the wooden floor boards. Rarely did he come across moments of happiness for his family, even losing count of the amount of times he'd stumbled upon Sansa being beaten and tortured:</p><p class="western">Once it was in the throne room of the Red Keep, a white cloak punched her in the stomach and ripped off her dress. He silently thanked Tyrion when he walked in and stopped Joffrey's torment. Another time, Bran had walked through a door to see Ramsay Bolton peeling layers of skin off of Sansa's stomach with a potato peeler. Through his sister's screams, Bran heard the bastard say, “Quite now. I might lose my concentration and make a wound that won't heal.” It made him all the more pleased with the fact Sansa had fed him to dogs.</p><p class="western">It was that memory that made Bran careful about opening doors, opening them only ajar before stepping through completely. This was so he could listen for any signs that he might not won't to look. But it was not a flawless solution. The bastard showed up again. Bran found himself on a field outside Winterfell, an army on either side and a boy running across it. Only when Bran got closer did he see that the boy was Rickon. As the arrow went through his younger brother's chest, he broke down crying again. <em>It's my fault he died. I sent him away. I should have brought him with me and then sent him to Castle Black with Sam.</em></p><p class="western">Sam.</p><p class="western">One time, Bran walked through a door into a dark and messy room littered by books and scrolls of parchment. An ale bellied man sat in front of a tall black candle that looked like it was made of dragonglass. To Bran's surprised, the man looked up from the candle and squinted before saying, “I thought you were a cripple.”</p><p class="western">Bran tilted his head and replied, “You can see me?”</p><p class="western">“If I couldn't see you, why would I be speaking to you?” He stood then grabbed a chair, shaking the parchment it had held onto the floor. “Sit,” the man told him. Bran did as he was bid. “You are Brandon Stark, fourth child and second son of Eddard Stark. You were crippled when Jaime Lannister pushed you out of a tower and went north beyond the Wall to learn greensight from a man in a tree.”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Now I'm back in Winterfell. What is your name, how know the things you do and how can you be speaking to me?”</p><p class="western">“My name is Marwyn. I am an Archmaester at the Citadel and currently making sure your friend Samwell doesn't get poison in his porridge. I know the things I do and can speak to you because of this.” He pointed at the candle. “It's a glass candle and I've been using it to watch Westeros. You needn't to tell him, but your brother should thank me. I've been visiting Jaime Lannister's dreams, telling him to go north and it's worked the best that I could hope for.”</p><p class="western">
  <em>Cousin, not brother.</em>
</p><p class="western">“Jaime Lannister is in the Riverlands.”</p><p class="western">“He is. Though you can't exactly tell your brother at the moment considering he's not in Winterfell. The men at Moat Cailin know about it, so they'll be sending a raven for your brother to read once he gets back. If my tampering with Lannister's dreams does its job, you'll have a lion in Moat Cailin who's happy to hear what your brother has to say about the White Walkers.”</p><p class="western">That had not been the only time Bran spoke to Marwyn. In fact, he could reliably find Marwyn after that first meeting. The Archmaester told Bran of the search for books about the White Walkers and the Long Night, relaying any information of note that their research yielded. Bran spoke at length about what he found in the past, but never the future. He would only do that when he absolutely needed to, such as when Sansa had asked about her future. It had led to Jon being save. <em>As well as House Stark.</em></p><p class="western">Walking the corridors today, he was hunting for a specific moment in the past. The first he'd opened had been the present: Howland Reed and his wife galloping north along the Kingsroad on the final stretch to Winterfell. Seeing it, he' realised something: <em>Howland's word will not be proof enough to anyone outside of the North. I need concrete evidence that Lyanna and Rhaegar were married. If they were married, surely there would be offcial documents I could find. </em>So he'd begun looking for his aunt's wedding to Rhaegar Targaryen. So far his search had yielded moments in time either fruitless to his goal or terrifying for the future.</p><p class="western">He'd walked through a door to find himself on the Kingsroad just before Castle Black. The night was black save some bright orange lights in the southern sky that were getting larger and larger. The Wall stood tall, indistinguishable from the night sky except for its faint top edge. The world was unbearbaly cold. Very soon, sworn brothers were galloping past him, so many that Bran could have sworn that Castle Black would be left empty. Riding alongside the sworn brothers were northern soldiers. Bran realised why they were riding away the castle.</p><p class="western">The orange lights were rocks wreathed in flame. They crashed into the castle, decimating it in an instant. More rocks fell, crashing into the base of the Wall. Great cracks were sent in all directions along the ice and Bran covered his ears because of how loud they were. Sheets of ice began to fall off the wall as more rocks fell from the sky, breaking apart the ice more &amp; more. All of it fell into the same pile, creating a frozen hill where Castle Black used to be. The last of the rocks fell and the last of the ice broke from the Wall. What remained was a wide 'W' shape created by the ice still standing and the hill formed from the ice that had fallen.</p><p class="western">Seeing the Wall destroyed was not the most terrifying thing about this moment, though. That came in the form of a large silhouette that perched itself on the top of the Wall. Bran looked up to see large leather wings, a long neck and a large head. The creature stared right into Bran's soul with two bright blue eyes like icy stars in the night sky. Only then did the ice dragon let out an almighty roar, summoning an army of dead men, ice spiders and White Walkers over the hill of ice that had once been the Wall.</p><p class="western">Bran stood dead still. The army pasted him as if he weren't there. Not only were there ice spiders by wighted giants and snow bears, shadowcats and direwolves, plodding &amp; prowling slowly along. Some White Walkers were even mounted on the spiders and bears. The army didn't seem to stop. There was a point where he wondered where the Night King was. The last of the Walkers had long since passed him, leaving only the thralls still left to come. But then he looked up at the ice dragon and realised that the Night King was most certainly perched upon its back.</p><p class="western">He saw another image that scared him during his search for his aunt's wedding. One door took him onto a small island no more than a mile in diameter, the sea stretching out in all directions. In the centre of the isle was a tower built out of bone white bricks and blood red mortar that was so tall, it disappeared into the angry, black clouds that spanned the heavens save for a ring of golden sky sitting just above the horizon. The island was flat and covering the ground were corpses – children's corpses. Bran walked toward the island's centre and the corpses were piled higher the closer he got to the centre, forming a gradual incline.</p><p class="western">Once he was half-way toward the tower, he looked up to see a child a fall through the clouds beside the towers. It was a young boy with gold eyes and brown hair. He joined the other children in lying dead on the floor. At the moment the boy became a mangled corpse, the clouds changed from black to grey and the sky at the horizon went from gold to white. Bran stood watching the gap in the cloud the boy had come through as it filled itself back in. Something was compeling him to keep his eyes on that spot. The answer came to him soon after, in the form of another young boy; this one with brown hair and grey eyes. Instead of joining the other children, this boy's arms turned into raven eyes and he flew off over the sea.</p><p class="western">
  <em>THAT WAS ME!</em>
</p><p class="western">Bran was in the corridor again before he could exhale.</p><p class="western">To help find his Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen in the past, Bran was doing his best to keep them present in his mind, willing their marriage to appear to him. All this resulted in was moments from Jon's childhood such as him playing knights with Robb. Other doors he opened show him Jon's time at the Wall: when he met Sam, being chosen as Lord Commander and removing the head of Janos Slynt, the man who helped insure father's capture. A smile crept onto Bran's lips seeing that last one, despite his better nature. He got up to seeing Sansa run into Jon's arms before thinking, <em>I don't need to see these.</em></p><p class="western">As if his prayer was answered. The next door Bran opened showed him Lyanna. Father and her were children, playing in the Godswood. He smiled at the sight before returning to the corridor. Following that, Bran saw the tourney at Harrenhal. Rhaegar triumphed over Barristan the Bold then crowned Aunt Lyanna as the Queen of Love &amp; Beauty. The atmosphere of the crowd felt extremely awkward as the Crown Prince had named someone other than his wife. Eventually Bran found what he was looking for.</p><p class="western">He opened a door that brought him into a grove of Weirwood trees, their bark bone white and leaves blood red. Grey clouds covered the sky and white snow fell upon the ground to form a soft, thick blanket. <em>It was the year of the false spring and this must be the Isle of Faces</em>, Bran thought. <em>It's the only place where this many Weirwoods could be south of the of the Neck. </em>He walked through the grove and soon found three people. Two of them were Lyanna &amp; Rhaegar, the other was a maester. Bran walked toward them and could hear his aunt saying marriage vows a hoarse voice. When he finally reached them, Rheagar kissed her, but she clearly didn't want it. When the kiss broke, Rhaegar spoke to the Maester.</p><p class="western">“Thank you Crighton,” he said.</p><p class="western">Crighton nodded. “You're welcome, My Lord,” he replied, doing his best not to notice how uncomfortable Lyanna was.</p><p class="western">Standing right next to Crighton, Bran saw the small book he was holding. Focusing all his will, Bran tried to freeze the moment in place and it surprisingly worked. Lying in the opened page sat two pieces of paper: an annulment of Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell and a marriage contract binding him &amp; Lyanna as husband &amp; wife.</p><p class="western">Bran returned to the corridor and found Marwyn. As usual, he was sitting in his chamber, staring at the glass candle.</p><p class="western">“What is it, Bran?” Marwyn asked, almost politely.</p><p class="western">“I need you to find a maester for me,” Bran told him.</p><p class="western">Marwyn looked up. “Who?”</p><p class="western">“Maester Crighton. He looked to be in his thirties during the year of the false spring and was perhaps close to Prince Rhaegar but that's all the information I have to narrow it down. He was in the Riverlands in the period of time immediately after Rhaegar kidnapped my Aunt.”</p><p class="western">Marwyn frowned. “Why do you need me to find him?”</p><p class="western">“He officiated a wedding between my aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.” Marwyn frowned. “I need the marriage certificate from that wedding and the annulment paper for Rhaegar's and Elia Martell's marriage.”</p><p class="western">“Why?”</p><p class="western">“Because the future of the Seven Kingdoms and my family depends on it.”</p><p class="western">That was all the reasoning Marwyn needed.</p><p class="western">Bran left the Weirwood network. The cold hit him like a punch to the gut. Meera sat on his wheelchair, reading a book.</p><p class="western">“Meera,” Bran said, making her jump slightly.</p><p class="western">“Yes?” she replied, closing the book.</p><p class="western">“You remember that I said we would marry after I turn sixteen?”</p><p class="western">“Yes.”</p><p class="western">“I want to bring it forward... so we get married as soon as Jon is back here.”</p><p class="western">She blinked twice. “Why?”</p><p class="western">“Because we need to. I'm worried that my sixteenth birthday will be too late.” Meera smiled then softly nodded. “We best tell Sansa. I've finished for the day.”</p><p class="western">Meera helped Bran into his wheelchair and pushed him to the entrance of the crypts. Ten men-at-arms were standing guard just outside the throne chamber on Sansa's order, there orders to protect Bran while Littlefinger was still in Winterfell. Two of them carried Bran &amp; his wheelchair up the stairs and into the yard. Snow coated the ground as usual and people were going about their daily lives. Bran told Meera to take him to the southern courtyard instead of turning toward the main keep .</p><p class="western">“Why?” she asked.</p><p class="western">“A feeling,” Bran replied. That feeling turned out to be what he expected.</p><p class="western">Dismounting from horses and loading luggage off a carriage were a group of crannogmen. Meera said nothing before giving Bran a view of her back as she ran across the yard and into the arms of her parents, Howland &amp; Jyana Reed. Meera got her curls from her mother and her shade of brown from her father, though his hair was more grey now than brown. Meera pointed to at Bran and he met her father's eyes. The Lord of Greywater Watch kissed his daughter on the forehead before making his way to Bran. Meera remained with her mother.</p><p class="western">“Prince Bran,” Howland said, bowing. “It pleases me to see you well.”</p><p class="western">“I don't wish to be hasty, Lord Reed, but I must ask you to accompany me to my solar immediately so that we can discuss the matters I summoned you here for in private,” Bran told him.</p><p class="western">“Of course, My Lord,” Howland replied, “but I need to greet Princess Sansa now I have arrived. She is Castellan of Winterfell while the King is away, is she not?”</p><p class="western">“She is, but the matter I must discuss with you takes precedent.”</p><p class="western">“Very well.”</p><p class="western">He stepped round the back of Bran's chair and began to push. They went up the stairs to the walkway and entered the castle. Bran told Howland which turns to take when coming to them. Luckily, no more stairs needed to be climbed in order to reach Bran's solar. Entering it, he asked Howland to light a fire after positioning him in front of the table. Howland sat opposite Bran once the flames were rising in the hearth.</p><p class="western">“First of all, I ask your blessing to ask Meera for her hand in marriage,” Bran began, wanting to get the simpler matter out of the way.</p><p class="western">“It is given,” Howland replied then chuckled. “It will be pleasing to see my daughter become a princess and to join my house to your father's. I'm sure we would be proud to see what has become of his children... at least you, Sansa and Jon”</p><p class="western">Bran nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he said. “Know that Meera &amp; I have decided to marry sooner than my sixteenth birthday, instead having it once His Grace returns home.”</p><p class="western">Howland nodded. “So long as are a good husband, I will have no problem.”</p><p class="western">“Good. Now for the second matter. I know Jon is the son of my Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”</p><p class="western">“I guessed as much from the wording of your raven,” Howland admitted. “What do you wish to do with this knowledge?”</p><p class="western">“Tell him,” Bran answered. “Tell all the Seven kingdoms. It will help House Stark survive the coming war against the dead.”</p><p class="western">“How so?”</p><p class="western">“I would rather keep that to myself. If all goes well, things should fall into place once Jon knows his true parentage.</p><p class="western">“Then I will trust your word. Who else knows?”</p><p class="western">“Only Meera.”</p><p class="western">“When do you plan to tell King Jon? Once he gets back from the Wall?”</p><p class="western">“No. Just today I found Lyanna &amp; Rhaegar's wedding in the past as well as the name of the Maester who organised it. Someone in the Citadel I have managed to make contact with will be searching for the marriage contract. I expect they'll bring the papers here once they're found.”</p><p class="western">“If that is what you plan, it could be months before we tell Jon.”</p><p class="western">“I need the papers to prove Rhaegar and Lyanna were married.”</p><p class="western">“There's the problem of Jon finding it hard to trust your word. How do you expect to convince him?”</p><p class="western">“Jon already trusts my ability to see the past and he knows I would never lie to him.”</p><p class="western">“Then why do you need me?”</p><p class="western">“You were there when my Aunt gave Jon to my Father. You are my first hand witness and the lords of the North will trust your word.” There was a moment where the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. “That is all I need to discuss now. I will introduce you to Sansa. I'll introduce you to Jon. I need you to stay here indefinitely, Howland. Are you willing to?”</p><p class="western">Howland nodded. “If you need me to stay in Winterfell, I'll stay in Winterfell. Besides, I have need to catch up with my daughter. Would you like me to push you anywhere?”</p><p class="western">“No. I will stay here and rest. If you could wheel me in front of the fire then it will be appreciated.” Howland did as Bran asked, before leaving the room with the door closed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I consciously got the idea to have Bran organise time into an endless corridor, accessing different moments in time through doors, from the Matrix but I like to think Monster's Inc. had something to do with it as well. It's easily the film I have watched the most times out of all the films I've seen and my favourite Disney/Pixar film.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Tyrion II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daenerys' army travels north.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Tyrion</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Tyrion pulled his cloak tight as he watched the men spar. It was Grey Worm against the commander of the Tyrell men, Igon Vyrwel. The Unsullied wore black leather with plates riveted over the key points on his body. Vyrwel wore full steel plate underneath a green surcoat with the gold rose of the Tyrells embroidered on it. Grey Worm moved more quickly, but Igon's weak points were much smaller than his opponent's. Igon knew this and used it to his advantage: first by choosing a two-handed sword instead of a sword &amp; shield combination, second by not bothering to deflect blows that would only hit his armour.</p>
<p class="western">The result of this fighting style was Igon winning most of the sparring matches. He could get more force into blows delivered with his two-hander that Grey Worm couldn't get into blows with his shortsword. Whenever the Tyrell commander found a large enough opening, he would deliver a heavy blow that knocked Grey Worm sideways. Either the Unsullied would keep his balance and remain standing or he would loose his footing and fall onto the rocky floor of the Boneway. Either way, he won only one of the five agreed matches, that being the last one. Igon was tired by that point and didn't manage to deflect a blow correctly. At the end, both men bowed respectfully and the on-lookers clapped in appreciation of the evening's entertainment.</p>
<p class="western">Dusk was nearing its end and it had been a long day, just like every other they spent travelling the Boneway. Varys had complained endlessly about the uneven path that climbed through the dornish mountains. Sitting in a carriage throughout the journey, he felt the poor footing more so than those on foot or horseback. Tyrion was thankful he'd had the foresight to have a saddler make him a custom saddle. He still remembered his old design, so it was easy to setch out on a piece of parchment for the saddler to use. Ever since Sunspear, Tyrion had been riding at the head of the column beside Daenerys and Missandei.</p>
<p class="western">The evening before they were set to leave the capital city, he'd been talking to Daenerys about the journey to Yronwood when she expressed that it was her plan to ride Drogon. Tyrion immediately said, “It will be bitterly cold in the sky with the snow and the wind. This is not Essos. Staying up there for prolonged periods of time will put you at risk of frostbite and I don't expect an ice figure will be a competent ruler. It would be far safer for you to ride on a horse.” She thanked him for the advice and took it gracefully, asking that a horse was made ready for her when the morning came.</p>
<p class="western">One thing he had failed to anticipate when planning the march was how much the snow would slow them down. Having never dealt with such weather while moving an army, it hadn't come to anyone's mind while they decided to march across Dorne. If it had, Tyrion might have suggested that the army be transported across the Sea of Dorne by the fleet to march through the Stormlands instead. But the snow proved itself to be a problem too late after the fleet had set off for them to change course. At the very least, the Greyjoy siblings said they would not move on the city until the land army was camped in the Kingswood.</p>
<p class="western">As they rode across snow covered desert, Daenerys spoke to Tyrion. “The comment you made about pulling out Lady Ellaria's tongue,” she said in a tone that suggested it was a topic to open a conversation.</p>
<p class="western">“Do not scold me again,” Tyrion told her. “You made your position quite clear.”</p>
<p class="western">“I won't. I bring it up to ask why you chose to threaten her so specifically.”</p>
<p class="western">“It was the part of her body that she offended me with,” Tyrion explained. “Say if she'd pulled a dagger out instead, I would have threatened to take off her hand.”</p>
<p class="western">“While I don't intend to be removing hands and cutting out tongues, I need to know how to keep those would treat me with impertinence correctly.”</p>
<p class="western">“Westeros is not the Bay of Dragons. The highborn that came to see you in the Great Pyramid are not the same as those in Westeros. The wrong word in the wrong ear could lead to war, as I found out with Catelyn Stark; though that isn't to say same didn't happen with the Masters of Yunkai. Lady Catelyn been told the dagger used in an attempt on her son's life had belonged to me and so she took me prisoner. My father then called his banners and started would come to be known as the War of the Five Kings.”</p>
<p class="western">“I certainly don't want to start wars.”</p>
<p class="western">“Certainly, Your Grace. In order to play the game you must first learn how to. That takes time, tutoring &amp; failure to begin with.”</p>
<p class="western">“Tell me what you know of Jon Stark,” Daenerys asked suddenly. “You suggested him as a suitor and explained that he would be a valuable ally. I would know what I can of him.”</p>
<p class="western">“Born &amp; raised the Bastard of Winterfell, his life was better than that of most bastards. He had the love of his siblings, from what I saw, but he had the unfortunate quality of being a reminder to Lady Stark that her husband bedded another woman so she would have treated him with harsh gazes and cold contempt. It is a big reason he decided to go to the Wall from what I could gather.</p>
<p class="western">“My companionship with him came to an end when I left Castle Black, but while I was with him I gave him what advice I could. He was a good man then and I'm sure he is now, but a man changes in the long years its been since last I spoke to the boy and so I dare say my experience with Ned Stark's bastard is of little credence when it comes to you considering him as a suitor.”</p>
<p class="western">“None the less, it is sorely needed,” Daenerys said. “I doubt the King in the North will meekly accept me as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, so any information that I can muster of the man is good information. Him and his sister, Princess Sansa. Tell me of her. I'll need to win her over as well, I expect.”</p>
<p class="western">Tyrion sighed. “First of all, I must ask that if we ever encounter Petyr Baelish, that he will be hung, drawn &amp; quartered?</p>
<p class="western">“The man who sold her.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. That girl did not deserve to be sold off to the family who betrayed her brother.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do you believe it is an appropriate punishment?”</p>
<p class="western">“From the details Greyjoy gave me of what Ramsay did to her, Littlefinger deserves to be slowly tortured.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well. If we meet this Lord Baelish, will be given the punishment you propose. Now, tell me of Sansa Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“She's proud, no doubt. Probably devilishly clever as well if Baelish treated her how I would expect he would.”</p>
<p class="western">“How do you mean?”</p>
<p class="western">“You see, Baelish was in love with Sansa's mother. It would not be out of the realm of possibility for one to assume he saw her as the daughter he never had. As such, he would want her to be as smart as he was; grooming her to be an expert at the game. I expect she'll use those skills to help her brother keep the northern crown.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do you believe she can befriended?”</p>
<p class="western">“If she sees benefit for her family and people. ”</p>
<p class="western">“Then I will have to win both her and her brother as friends for the North come under my rule. What do you think are the chances of Jon agreeing to marry me?”</p>
<p class="western">“I couldn't say. He very well could be considering a bride as we speak. By marrying a northern lady he would strengthen the North internally.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do you know of any possible brides he may choose from?”</p>
<p class="western">Tyrion shook his head. “I am not acquainted with the noble women of the North. There would likely be a many pining to win their King's affection. We are blind on that battlefield.”</p>
<p class="western">“Perfect,” Daenerys replied, sarcastically.</p>
<p class="western">As they travelled east, their journey took them past Godsgrace and the Tor until finally coming to Yronwood. There they met up with the army Olenna had gathered out of the bannermen still loyal to House Tyrell. The land offered little in the way of natural resources, so their passage across Dorne saw them consuming foods stores that they brought with them from Meereen. It made Tyrion somewhat resent their large numbers. The problem only got worse when the ten thousand Tyrell bannermen joined their number as they began to travel the Boneway. The rocky and uneven ground meant not many people could travel side by side.</p>
<p class="western">However, to ease passage along the mountain path, Daenerys sent the dragons ahead of the army to breathe fire and clear away the snow that had piled in the passage. Snow did fall onto the passage from higher up on the mountains, but Drogon, Rhaegar &amp; Viseron would double back to clear it as well. No fire lingered after the dragons did the work, so the army could travel forward soon after it was down.</p>
<p class="western">Igon Vrywel joined Tyrion, Daenerys and Meiisandei at the head of the column after setting out from Yronwood. The leader of the Tyrell men proved to be quite the talkative person, so he and Tyrion got on quite well, sharing conversation every day to the stave off the boredom. In fact, it had been Tyrion who suggested Igon duel Grey Worm: partly to keep their skills sharp, partly to see how Grey Worm fared against a Westerosi solder. <em>It will help for when there's really fighting.</em></p>
<p class="western">They were now coming to the end of the Boneway. Tyrion could not be more thankful. The nights were deadly cold and more than two hundred horses had not survived; they provided extra food for humans and dragons alike. There was little in the way of firewood this high in the mountains, so the only way you could properly warm yourself was wrapping tightly in furs. Dusk was a warning sign telling you should to do that quickly. If anything, once the army got to a lower elevation, they should get warmer temperatures. <em>But it was snowing in Dorne of all places and the snows will just get worst the further into winter we get.</em></p>
<p class="western">Tyrion looked up at the ridge where the dragons had made their nest for the night. Daenerys would be up there with them, very rarely spending nights with someone beside her dragons. He supposed that was only natural. She did not get to spend time with them during the day, so spending nights with them was the obvious solution.</p>
<p class="western">Varys was sitting in his carriage, drinking wine, when Tyrion found him. The dwarf pulled himself onto one of the cushioned seats. The eunuch poured a cup and handed it to him. “How did Commander Vrywel fare against Grey Worm?” Varys asked softly.</p>
<p class="western">“Very well,” Tyrion answered. “He won four out five matches and only lost the last one because he was tired. Full plate proved more effective armour than leather riveted with plates over the more vital areas.”</p>
<p class="western">“I expected as much I first laid eyes on the unsullied armour. It is a same that leather doesn't fare well against sharp steel.”</p>
<p class="western">They spoke and drank until the last of the evening light disappeared behind the mountains on the western side of the Boneway. Most of it was fruitless conversation designed to pass the time, but Varys did say he expected to begin hearing whispers once they reached the Kingswood. Ravens sent from Sunspear made it known that he was back in Westeros. If all went well, the usual suspects would begin bringing news.</p>
<p class="western">Tyrion knew that it would surely needed. The news they received while camped at Yronwood included that Dragonstone was now occupied by the northmen sent to take it and that the force of men sent to lay seige to Highgarden were making their way along the Roseroad to King's Landing. “The snow has slowed as too much,” Olenna had said when hearing that news. “We could have fell upon them before they reached the city if we were travelling at a normal pace.”</p>
<p class="western">It wasn't long before Tyrion felt his eye lids getting heavy. He got himself into a comfortable before drifting asleep quickly. The dream that came to him was that of two dragons, a silver one and a black one. He had to make a choice between the two of them. Choosing incorrectly would result in the death of the world as he knew it. Tyrion could not make the choice before a horn was blown, jolting him violently awake. He climbed out of the carriage to see why the horn was blown.</p>
<p class="western">A thin layer of snow was on the rocky ground and the sky in the east was brighter than the sky in the west. The horn was coming from the north. Other men were rudely awoken by the sound coming from the forward lookout, whose job it was to alert the army to anyone travelling south along the Boneway.</p>
<p class="western">“What is it?” Tyrion asked the captain in charge upon reaching the forward lookout. He was a dornish man wrapped up in five layers of yellow silk.</p>
<p class="western">“The dothraki scouts, Lord Hand,” the captain answered. He pointed and Tyrion squinted. Travelling toward them was a group of riders led by dothraki scouts. By the time the group had reached the forward lookout and dismounted, a good amount of soldiers had woken up to see what was going on. Daenerys even made her way down from the ridge to see what was going one. Tyrion recognised one of the men the dothraki had been escorting.</p>
<p class="western">“Thoros,” Tyrion said to the man in poor red cloth. “You were fat the last I saw you.”</p>
<p class="western">“I lost the weight, Imp,” the red priest replied with a smirk.</p>
<p class="western">“What are you doing here?”</p>
<p class="western">A woman in red walked forward. She was tall with dark red hair and eyes, but her cloak concealed her figure. She went to Daenerys immediately. “Daenerys Stormborn,” she said.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes,” Daenerys replied, observing the woman curiously. “Who are you and why have you come before me?”</p>
<p class="western">“I am Melisandre of Asshai,” the woman answered. <em>The red priestess that was serving Stannis. </em>“I come before you now because I need to speak to you about the survival of the entire realm.”</p>
<p class="western">Daenerys nodded. “Very well. We will speak somewhere more privately.” Tyrion followed the two woman as the moved toward the carriage he had been sleeping inside. As they stepped inside, Tyrion didn't fail to notice Varys eyeing Melisandre suspiciously. “Lady Melisandre, this is Lord Tyrion Lannister, my Hand.” Daenerys gestured accordingly. “And this is Lord Varys, one of my top advisors. The pair of them will help me make a decision based on what you have to tell me.”</p>
<p class="western">Melisandre nodded and began: “To put it simply, Your Grace, you should forget about the Iron Throne. It does not matter.”</p>
<p class="western">Daenerys blinked quickly, twice. “Pardon me?”</p>
<p class="western">“The Iron Throne does not matter. Your pursuing it will do nothing but bring about the end of lives of men that could fight against the true enemy of the realm.”</p>
<p class="western">“And that is?”</p>
<p class="western">“The White Walkers and their army of the dead. They threaten ever last man, woman and child in Westeros.”</p>
<p class="western">“What proof do have that they exist?” Varys asked. “The White Walkers are little more than a legend to most people. Why are we suppose to put efforts toward fighting them if you cannot prove they are a threat?”</p>
<p class="western">“All I can give you are words, Lord Varys. I have not even seen the White Walkers first hand, but I trust the word of those who say they have, chief amoung them Jon Stark.”</p>
<p class="western">“We've been told that he died only for you to bring him back, My Lady,” Tyrion said. “Are these rumours true?”</p>
<p class="western">The woman nodded. “They are. He was betrayed by a group of his sworn brothers and brought him back to life with the aid of R'hllor.”</p>
<p class="western">Varys tittered. “That presents another problem, My Lady. How can we believe that this claim is also true?”</p>
<p class="western">“Look at Lord Beric is amoung the men who escorted me here. He has been brought back from death several times by Thoros of Myr with the aid of R'hllor.”</p>
<p class="western">“Lady Melsiandre,” Daenerys cut in. “As much as I would like to believe what you say, that White Walkers are a threat upon the realm that I should work toward defeating, you cannot prove your claims.” Melisandre looked wounded. “I will allow you and the men who escorted you to travel with my army, but I will not change my goal from that which it has always been. The Iron Throne must be retaken by House Targaryen, who it rightfully belongs to. I already have plans to speak with Jon Stark once I have established myself as a ruler, so I will hear what he has to say then, not before.”</p>
<p class="western">Melsiandre nodded. “Very well, Your Grace.” She stood and left the carriage.</p>
<p class="western">“I believe that was ill done, my Queen,” Tyrion said. “I doubt that she would have come all this way to speak to you if she was not telling the truth.”</p>
<p class="western">“I can't abandon my cause now, not when the Iron Throne is within my reach. The White Walkers may be real, but they can wait. The Iron Throne cannot.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Jon V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon returns to Winterfell.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Jon</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Winterfell emerged as they peaked the last hill, a looming dark shape contrasted by the white in the air. Hard grey stone made its walls, dark brown wood its tower tops which were pointing sharply toward the sky so snow could fall off them more easily. The sight was as sweet as fresh, summer fruit. It was bitterly cold and Jon was jealous of Ghost's thick fur: while the direwolf was certainly feeling the low temperature, it wouldn't be nearly as much as Jon was. Down into the small valley they rode only to climb the next hill, their horses pushing through the snow to reach the northern gate of the castle.</p>
<p class="western">Stopping in front of the gate, Jon got a look at the trench he'd ordered dug. Six weeks of work had made it a respectable depth already, although the snow had ideas of undoing some of the work. He then searched the battlements above the in vain for a head on a spike. When the gate opened, Ghost went in first, followed by Jon and the five soldiers who accompanied him back from the Wall. Dismounting, the snow came half-way up Jon's shin. Before he moved toward the stables to board his horse, someone shouted his name, making him look around toward the wall.</p>
<p class="western">Sansa was descending the stairs into the yard, dressed in all light grey, making her look like part of the scenery. The hood of her cloak was pulled up, but the blood-red braid spilling out of it was all he needed to know it was her. Handing the reins of his horse to one of the soldiers, Jon went to his sister as quickly as he could through the thick snow, wrapping her in his arms once he reached her. Sansa's pale face was tinged by red and lit up by two icy blue eyes.</p>
<p class="western">“What were you doing in the gatehouse tower, My Lady?” he asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Waiting for you, Your Grace,” Sansa said. “Bran said you arriving today so I've been sitting in the tower since I broke my fast.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon chuckled. “You didn't need to do that.”</p>
<p class="western">“I did. I've got things to tell you. Let's go to your solar for it.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon nodded and took Sansa's hand. He led her first to the stables where the stablehands helped him board his horse. Everyone was inside because of the snowstorm, so the castle grounds were empty, making Winterfell seem dead and deserted. After boarding his horse Jon led the way to the main keep, holding onto Sansa's hand throughout, Ghost padding alongside them. Some respite from the wind and cold was found when they closed the door. Jon kicked his boots against the Wall and his direwolf shook the snow from his fur, making the guards on duty recoiled since they were standing just inside the main door. Sansa led the way to the solar through stone corridors and up stone stairs. They lit a fire in the hearth soon after they entered. Ghost placed himself in front of it as the pair of them sat at the table where a collection of parchment was bound together by twine. Cold light shone in through the windows, wind beating against the glass.</p>
<p class="western">“I didn't see Baelish's head on a spike,” Jon said. “I assume he's not acted out of line.”</p>
<p class="western">“He tried to leave once but I confronted him. Since then he's avoided me, Bran and Brienne. Lord Royce reports that Littlefinger only ever broods about being a hostage when the pair of them speak. He also ask Lord Royce to send a raven to my cousin Robin, telling him to come here. Lord Royce and I signed the raven together, so my cousin will be coming here on my request instead of Littlefinger's. Other than that, Littlefinger takes his meals in his room. He has spies amoung our staff, I have no doubt, that so far they haven't cause me any trouble.”</p>
<p class="western">“What happened to Bronson when he got back here with your rider?” Jon asked, remembering Littlefinger's attempt on his life.</p>
<p class="western">“You mean the man you pardoned? I had him and the rider write up statements of what happened on the road. After, I personally accompanied Bronson to Wintertown with some men to bring his daughter and what ever things they own to the castle.”</p>
<p class="western">“What's his daughter like?”</p>
<p class="western">“A very sweet girl. She has her father's hair &amp; eyes and was ecstatic to meet me. She even asked me to play dolls with her.” She smiled. “After the two of them were moved into the castle, Bronson asked to be a member of the guard so I gave him to Dale and he's been doing a wonderful job so far.”</p>
<p class="western">“And what do you think of my choice to pardon Bronson?”</p>
<p class="western">“I think you were right to do so. I've spoken to him several times and he is a good man. When he's not on duty, he's with his daughter.” Jon smiled but Sansa frowned. “Something else happened that you might not like. Sandor Clegane arrived in Winterfell and I allowed him to into our service.”</p>
<p class="western">“What?” Jon blurted out. Sandor Clegane. Jon remembered his scarred face from when King Robert had visited Winterfell. Having heard everything about Sansa's time in King's Landing, Jon knew the man wasn't all bad. That didn't stop the reputation the Hound had making Jon consider punishing Sandor for his crimes. Brienne said that Arya had been with him, so it stood to reason he meant no harm in coming to Winterfell. “What has he been doing since he got here?”</p>
<p class="western">“Helping Ser Kyle train recruits,” Sansa answered. “He's hard on them, but they're showing a lot of improvement with him teaching.”</p>
<p class="western">“The Hound's reputation precedes him.” Jon soften his expression. “What do you think I should do?”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa drummed her fingers on the table, watching them. <em>Tap, tap, tap</em>. “While you were away, I thought it might be a good idea for you to form a Kingsguard or something similar. We may have prevented the one attempt on your life, but there will be more in the future. You need strong fighters around you that can quickly come to your defense.”</p>
<p class="western">“And you think I should make Clegane one of them.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa nodded. “Sandor doesn't want to be knighted, but wouldn't have to be.”</p>
<p class="western">“Why are you suggesting this now when you could have before I left for the Wall?”</p>
<p class="western">She shallowed. “Because... because I asked Bran to look into the future and he said I will be Queen in the North.” Jon felt his eyes widen. “It's why I sent the rider to you. I don't want to be Queen with you and Bran have to die for it.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well,” Jon said slowly. “I'll form a Kingsguard to put your mind at ease.” He finally looked at the stack of parchment in front of him. “This the record. Have you looked through it?” Sansa shock her head. Jon pulled it toward him, untied the twine and began to flick through the pieces of parchment.</p>
<p class="western">“Sandor also said he met Arya after she escaped the Twins.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon looked up at her. “So she did do it? She slaughtered the Freys.”</p>
<p class="western">She frowned, nodding. “That's what he said. He and a group of men called the Brotherhood without Banners escorted her to Lord Harroway's and she continued by herself to King's Landing. The Brotherhood were making north when Melisandre came upon them. Sandor continued north while the Brotherhood agreed to take Melisandre south to meet with Daenerys Targaryen. She means to convince the Dragon Queen to come north and aid us.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon rubbed his face after giving a grime a chuckle. “So not only will I have to put my sister on trial for murder, I have dragons to deal with.”</p>
<p class="western">“You don't need to put Arya on Trial Jon. The Freys got what...”</p>
<p class="western">“I do Sansa,” Jon snapped, startling her. “The Lord of the Crossing formally accused my sister of murder. He may not be my own subject or bannerman but it would dishonourable to not at least lend his accusations some credence. I am a King and the head of my house. It is my responsibility to see that Arya is properly punished for killing seven innocent men.”</p>
<p class="western">“House Frey got what they deserved,” Sansa replied, confident. “Seven innocents as collateral is more than fair for what they did at the Red Wedding.”</p>
<p class="western">“I will not condone the slaughter of innocents for the crimes of their kin. You of all people should know that because of what Joffrey did to you in response to Robb winning battles.” Jon relaxed himself. Sighed. “Sansa, I don't want to put Arya on trial. All I want is for her to be safe here in Winterfell with us, but how will it look to those in the south if I let her get away with murder simply because she is my sister. I need friends in the sourth. I need to win at least Jaime Lannister to my side and I won't be able to that if I don't punish Arya in some way should she ever come back. Yes, the seven dead innocents may be a lie, that that will be the point of the trial. To speak those who were involved and come to my decision.”</p>
<p class="western">That was enough to settle her. “Very well,” Sansa said.</p>
<p class="western">Jon returned to flicking through the parchment.The stack of papers was thick: he skimmed each section of text, searching for the records of Littlefinger's ravens. Sansa silently watched Jon as his eyes flicked over the words written in Wolkan's hand. He came upon a message from Alys Karstark and lost all composure, howling with laughter. Sansa's face was one of confusion. “What is it?”she asked. Jon slid the parchment over to her and pointed at the message he was reacting to.</p>
<p class="western">“Alys Karstark,” Jon managed, “married the Magnar of Thenn by winning him through the Free Folk custom.” He composed himself. Sansa was simply puzzled.</p>
<p class="western">“I fear I will never understand how that is funny.”</p>
<p class="western">“And that is a shame.” Jon wiped a tear from his eye and took back the parchment. “That will be one to share a mug of ale with Tormund over when I next see him.” Jon resumed his scanning of the parchment, muttering, “Magnar of Thenn, stolen by woman,” and chuckling to himself.</p>
<p class="western">Sansa left the room briefly as Jon flicked through the stack of parchment. She returned with a flagon of wine. After pouring a cup for herself and Jon, she knelt with Ghost in front of the fire. She ran her fingers through his fur. Jon shot out of his chair when he felt something running along his back. Sansa looked round, startled.</p>
<p class="western">“What's wrong?” she asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Run your hand through his fur again,” Jon told her. She did. The feeling was there again. “When you do that, I can feel your fingers on my back.”</p>
<p class="western">“What?”</p>
<p class="western">“And when I was heading North, Ghost found a deer carcass and I could taste blood in my mouth.”</p>
<p class="western">“Are you saying that you can feel and taste what Ghost does?” Sansa questioned in complete bewilderment. Jon drank some of his wine, pulling his chair back up to the table.</p>
<p class="western">“Aye,” Jon confirmed as he returned to reading the parchment before him. Sansa returned to her seat.</p>
<p class="western">“Ask Bran about it,” Sansa told him. “He can control animals.”</p>
<p class="western">“He's a warg,” Jon replied. “The Free Folk had them.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then ask Bran about it at supper. The three of us can sup together.” She smiled. “He and Meera decided to get married when you returned from the Wall.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon chuckled. “Didn't he say once he was sixteen just before I left? Gods, they must be eager to get to it.”</p>
<p class="western">“Bran said that waiting until he's sixteen might be too late.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon stopped his hands. “Did he say why?”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa shook her head. “He's been spending a lot of time searching. He only tells me specific things like seeing me as Queen. I think it's because he knows that I'll act a specific way.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon came upon the first message Littlefinger had sent. He was not noted as the sender but the letters contents were what gave it away. <em>He must of used one of his spies.</em> The message read: <em>Lord Glover, I write to inform you that the King in the North slept beside a wildling woman during his time north of the Wall while still being a man of the Night's Watch. </em>Jon gave the parchment to Sansa before continuing with his search.</p>
<p class="western">“'Wilding woman.' Wouldn't that be Ygritte? What could Littlefinger gain from telling Lord Glover about your relationship with her. In whatever case, you were killed and brought back to life. You served your punishment for breaking your vows.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon reached the end of the stack. “I don't know what his plan behind sharing this information is,” Jon told Sansa. “He hasn't sent the information to anyone else. Maybe he think's Lord Glover is the person most likely to kick up a fuss about it.” He scratched the back of his head. “Something you should know is when I spoke to Littlefinger before leaving for the Wall, I confronted him about seeing you as a replacement for your mother. He replied by accusing me of seeing you as a replacement for Ygritte.”</p>
<p class="western">“But you don't.”</p>
<p class="western">“Of course not.” He hesitated. “But I'm worried that he wasn't far off the mark.”</p>
<p class="western">“What do you mean?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm worried I might love you more than a brother should love his sister. I kept dreaming about you on my way to the Wall and back.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa chuckled. “I think you're getting worked up about something that's fairly simple to explain.” Her voice was soft and caring. “Before you set off for the Wall, we hadn't been apart for more than a day after I arrived at Castle Black. I think you were dreaming of me because you missed me and you jumped to worrying because of what Baelish said.” She took hold of his hand. “Doesn't that sound like a better explanation?”</p>
<p class="western">Jon offered her a small smile and a brief chuckle. “Aye, I guess you're right.”</p>
<p class="western">She smiled. It warmed her face despite her cold, blue eyes. Jon could not help but admire how beautiful she was when smiled. Standing, he said, “I need to go to the rookery. A raven from Moat Cailin in the record reported that Jaime Lannister is in the Riverlands.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa stood. “Afterwards, I'll take you to the hall. Howland Reed arrived the day Bran told me about bringing his marriage forward.”</p>
<p class="western">“Alright.” He didn't move immediately. He just kept staring into Sansa's eyes. Their silence was comfortable. Very comfortable. Almost too comfortable. The only thing filling it was the crackling of the fire and the beating of the wind on the windows. Jon could almost see the tension between the two of them and knew he had to do something to break it. He hugged her and Sansa returned the hug. “It's good to be home.”</p>
<p class="western">“It's good to have you back.” He felt her lips on his cheek. “Now best you write that raven. Jaime Lannister isn't going to go to Moat Cailin of his own accord without it.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon withdrew from the hug and walked over to his desk. He dipped a quill in some ink and scratched his message on a piece of parchment. Knowing Arya was now in King's Landing, Jon did not include the information. <em>He will turn south if I told him. </em>Instead, Jon wrote that he condemned Arya's actions leading to the deaths of innocents. <em>That should be some good. </em>He let the ink dry before rolling the parchment up and pouring some white wax onto it. He pressed the running direwolf of House Stark into the wax. As he was preparing the raven scroll, Jon noticed the dagger lying beside Dark Sister. The hilt was made of dragonbone. He picked it up after finishing the scroll. Unsheathing it, the blade was valyrian steel.</p>
<p class="western">“Bran said Littlefinger showed that blade to him. It was used in an attempt on his life after we all left Winterfell,” Sansa explained. “It wasn't Littlefinger who hired the killer, however. Bran said it was Joffrey.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon snapped his head up. “Joffrey?”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa nodded. “Bran said Joffrey found the dagger in a weapon cache that Robert brought up here when he asked Father to be Hand. Robert said that Bran should have been killed, saving him from life as a cripple. Joffrey wanted to please Robert.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon frowned. “How much time does Bran spend in the past?”</p>
<p class="western">“I hardly see him anywhere else. He's either in his chambers, in the great hall or in that throne chamber. Occasionally he visits the Godswood. Meera is with him every moment of the day except when she is training in the yard with a spear.”</p>
<p class="western">“I'll have to speak with him about the things he's been finding. No doubt he's stumbled across something useful.” Jon stood and picked his crown up off the desk. He then replaced the dagger on his belt with the one that Littlefinger had shown Bran. <em>If Bran put it there, he wants me to have it. </em>As he went to leave the solar, Jon told Sansa to pick up the stack of parchment recording raven scrolls.</p>
<p class="western">“Why?” she asked.</p>
<p class="western">Jon looked her dead in the eye and replied, ”I'm putting Littlefinger on trial. I want you to take those to the great hall. Get Lord Royce to the great hall as well. Leave Littlefinger be for now, I will order guards to collect him once I'm done with Bran and Howland.” Sansa nodded, acknowledging. Jon whistled. “Ghost. With me.” The white direwolf stood, joining the two of them as they left.</p>
<p class="western">Jon first went to the rookery, winding his way through the corridors of Winterfell. The toches hanging from the wall and the candles sitting in niches did plenty to light the way, but little to heat it. The cold of the snowstorm could be felt even inside the castle. When he climbed the stairs leading to the rookery, Jon pulled his cloak tight around him. The winds were a bit stronger and the snow was falling a bit heavier. Stepping inside after knocking, Jon passed his raven scroll to Wolkan.</p>
<p class="western">“I don't expect you to send this just naow, Maester,” he said. “Just so long as it gets sent once the storm dies down.”</p>
<p class="western">“Of course, Your Grace,” Wolkan replied. “Is there another else you require of me?”</p>
<p class="western">“Gather a few sheets of clean parchment, a quill and some ink and follow me down to the great hall. I will be holding a trial not long after I get there. I want you there to lend counsle and to record what is said.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well, Your Grace.” Wolkan collected the things Jon had said to and the pair of them left the rookery.</p>
<p class="western">They walked into the hall through the lord's entrance. It was sparsely crowded with guardsmen and smallfolk. He saw Bronson sitting with a small girl. <em>His daughter.</em> When they all saw Jon walking in, a mixture of bows, kneels and rising from seats occurred. “About your business,” Jon told them and they returned to what they were doing. Looking round to the high table, he saw Bran and a grey haired man in black cloth and a shortsword on his belt, sitting on the front edge of the table. He was looking at Jon and gave him a nod.</p>
<p class="western">“Your Grace,” he said.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Howland,” Jon answered walking to round to the front of the table. Wolkan sat himself at the end of the high table. “It is good of you to finally come to Winterfell.”</p>
<p class="western">Howland stood up properly. “And it is good to finally meet my new King.” Lord Reed went to one knee. “Jon of House Stark, the White Wolf, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, I, Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, do pledge myself and my house to the service of House Stark. Now &amp; Always.”</p>
<p class="western">“Arise, Lord Howland,” Jon told him. Howland stood and offered a hand shake. Jon accepted then felt someone tugging at the leg of his breeches. He looked down to see Bronson's daughter and smiled. “Hello.” Jon crouched. Bronson came to a stop a few paces behind his daughter. “What's your name?”</p>
<p class="western">“Lyarra.”</p>
<p class="western">“That's a pretty name. In fact, it's the name of my grandmother. Did your father name you after her?”</p>
<p class="western">“I don't know.” Lyarra looked back at Bronson. “Did you Papa?” Bronson walk forward and ruffled his daughter's hair.</p>
<p class="western">“You was named after your mother,” he told her. “She might o' been named after His Kingship's grandmother.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon stood and shook Bronson's hand. “It's good to see you made it and settled in. How have you been treated?”</p>
<p class="western">“One bastard got lippy about 'ow I shoun't of been pardoned by yourself, but I was able to see the Princess y' sister about it and she sorted him out.”</p>
<p class="western">And Sansa couldn't have picked a better time to walk in with Brienne, Pod, Lord Royce and Sandor Clegane following behind her. Bronson turned to look at her once he noticed Jon doing the same. “Perfect timing,” Jon said. “Bronson take two guards and escort Lord Baelish here please.”</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, Your Kingship.” To his daughter, “You go sit where we were.”</p>
<p class="western">Lyarra did as her father told her as Jon and Sansa took their places behind the high table. Lord Royce placed himself standing against the far wall while Brienne, Pod and Clegane placed themselves close to the high table. “Lord Howland, you will act as Lord Hand until Ser Davos returns from Dragonstone,” Jon said.</p>
<p class="western">“Of course Your Grace,” Howland replied before moving around the table to take a seat at Jon's right. Ghost sat himself in front of the table.</p>
<p class="western">“Clear the centre of the room,” Jon ordered. “Lord Baelish will need a place to stand.” Those who hadn't gathered yet what was happening did now, completing the order given to them by their King. The tables were pushed further towards the walls of the room, creating a large space in the centre of the room. Jon sat and waited.</p>
<p class="western">“Jon, charge him with murder and conspiracy to commit murder as well as treason,” Bran told him. “Let Sansa follow up with those charges.”</p>
<p class="western">“Alright.”</p>
<p class="western">The air thickened noticeably as the great hall waited for Littlefinger to arrive. He came in with three guards folliwing him – Bronson and two others. They returned to their posts as Baelish came to a stop in the centre of the hall. He was wearing long black doublet with his mockingbird pin at the centre of his collar. Littlefinger's beard was freshly trimmed, his face a stone mask. The last Jon had seen Baelish was when he'd order the man to remain in Winterfell – six weeks ago – and in that time it seemed Baelish's skin begun to hug his bones more tightly. Ghost was growling quietly from his place in front of the table.</p>
<p class="western">“What have you called me for, Your Grace?” Baelsih asked.</p>
<p class="western">“Maester Wolkan, please begin to record the words spoken during this trial,” Jon began.</p>
<p class="western">“Of course Your Grace,” the Maester replied, pulling the stopper from his bottle of ink.</p>
<p class="western">“Trail?” Littlefinger uttered, puzzled.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. Trial,” Jon clarified. “Lord Petyr Baelish you are formally accused of treason, murder and conspiracy to commit murder by Princess Sansa and Prince Bran.”</p>
<p class="western">“I am guilty of none of these crimes,” Baelish answered.</p>
<p class="western">“Really?” Sansa asked. “The conversation you had with me about how I should be ruling the North instead of King Jon is something most people would consider treason. Telling my Aunt Lysa to poison Jon Arryn is conpiracy to commit murder and throwing your own wife out of the Moon Door is certainly murder.”</p>
<p class="western">“My Lady?” Lord Royce spoke up from the back of the hall. “You told myself and two other nobles of the Vale that Lady Lysa threw herself through the Moon Door.”</p>
<p class="western">“I did, Lord Royce,” Sansa replied, looking past Baelish to meet Lord Royce's eye. “And it is one of my biggest regrets. I lied to you because at the time I believed that keeping Lord Baelish alive would serve me better than if he were to die. I was wrong on that account and I suffered the consequences of that choice.”</p>
<p class="western">“Where is your proof of this, My Lady?” Baelish questioned. “Forgive me, but if you are to prove I am guilty of these crimes, you need hard evidence?”</p>
<p class="western">Bronson stood up from his place in hall. “It was you who told that soldier to convince me into killin' His Kingship,” the pardoned theif said, pointing at the man on trial. Baelish observed him curiously. “On the way to the Wall, I identified a soldier paid by you to arrange for His Kingship to be killed. He admitted to the crime.”</p>
<p class="western">“Your word is not hard evidence.”</p>
<p class="western">“The soldier admitted his treason to me personally,” Jon told Baelish. “Considering that I am the man who is standing in judgement of you, I say we can lend some credence to the word of Bronson and Harlan, the soldier you paid to commit treason. If that is not enough for you, I can have the rider who came upon me and my men come here to say the same thing. I could have the five men who I arrived here with today deliver statements of what happened concerning the soldier Harlan.”</p>
<p class="western">“Even if the word of King Jon and the guardsman Bronson and the rider and the five soldiers isn't evidence enough of your guilt, you can deliver no evidence of your innocence,” Bran pointed out. “Unless you produce something that proves your innocence, there is no other verdict that His Grace can reach other that of your guilt. Chaso may be a ladder, My Lord, but it is one resting on unstable ground.”</p>
<p class="western">With that, Baelish eyed Sansa furiously. “Everything I've done, I've done so you would gain your rightful postion as ruler of the North. It is you who should be wearing a crown and not this bastard your father sired on some fishwife or whore.” He began walking toward the table. “I saved you from King's Landing. I taught you how to play the game. Everything you are today, you are because of me, Sansa.”</p>
<p class="western">“<em>Princess </em>Sansa,” she nearly yelled. “And do not even try and pretend that the actions you've taken are because you wanted to help me become ruler of the North. You told me yourself that you hope to sit the Iron Throne with me as your wife. In doing so, you went against the very first pieces of advice you gave me. The only person you have to blame for this is yourself, Lord Baelish, no one else.”</p>
<p class="western">“Your ungrateful little–”</p>
<p class="western">Littlefinger couldn't finish. He'd taken one step too close to the high table, prompting Ghost to spring onto all four legs, snapping his jaws and barking with a terrible anger. Baelish recoiled, backing all the way to the back wall, motivated by the direwolf stalking toward him. Littlefinger's stone mask was gone. Jon could not remember a time he'd seen the direwolf so angry or aggressive. Some of the more submissive people in the hall looked genuinely scared. Lyarra was clinging tightly to her father.</p>
<p class="western">When Baelish stopped against the back wall, Jon called to his wolf: “Ghost. Here.” Ghost backed away, his gaze never leaving the man he'd stalked after. Once standing in front of the high table again, the direwolf dipped his head, haunches in the air and teeth bared. Littlefinger returned to his position at the centre of the room cautiously, keeping his eyes on Ghost in case the direwolf decided to repeat the same action.</p>
<p class="western">“Do you still deny your charges, Lord Baelish?” Jon asked him calmly.</p>
<p class="western">Littlefinger chuckled grimly. “Don't think I don't see this mummer's force for what it is. Your minds were made up about my guilt long before you never called this trial. The only reason I have to suffer it is so you cannot be accused of not giving me a fair chance to get out of a death sentence.”</p>
<p class="western">“You had your chance when I told you to go back to the Vale,” Jon told Baelish darkly. “It was you who decided to linger in Winterfell, against my order. You could have plotted to your heart's content up in the Mountains in the Moon, instead you decided to stay here in order to do what exactly?”</p>
<p class="western">“I wanted to make moves to remove your, bastard. You do not deserve that crown. It belongs on your sister's head. Had your brother not turned out to be some all-knowing magic user, I could have gotten the northern crown on Princess Sansa's head – where it belongs.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the high table and interlacing his fingers. “So you admit to being guilty of all three charges?” he asked.</p>
<p class="western">“If it will get this farce over and done, yes.” Baelish spat the word, turning it into a curse somehow. “I admit to all of it.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you, Lord Baelish.” Jon stood, placing his hands flat against the high table. “Petyr of House Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Protector of the Vale, in mine own name for the crimes of treason, murder and conspiracy to commit murder, I, Jon of the House Stark, the White Wolf, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, sentence you to die. Lady Brienne, Sandor Clegane. Please escort Lord Baelish to the Godswood.”</p>
<p class="western">“Certainly Your Grace,” Brienne said before walking over to Baelish alongside Clegane. The pair of them each took one of his arms and began to march him out of the hall. He meekly went with them. Pod followed after.</p>
<p class="western">“All of you can remain here while the trial goes on,” Jon told the hall before moving out from behind the table. As he walked toward the main door of the hall – accompanied by Sansa, who pushed Bran in his wheelchair, Howland and Ghost – Bronson moved to join them. Jon stopped in his track. “You don't need to watch this, Bronson.”</p>
<p class="western">“I do,” he replied. “Weren't it for Lord Littlefinger's schemin', I wouldn't be here right now.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon nodded, accepting. “Very well.”</p>
<p class="western">When they reached the Weirwood tree, the snowstorm was still raging. None the less, Jon meant to continue the trial. Brienne and Clegane had Baelish stood in front of the tree while a ring of onlookers stood at the edge of the clearing.</p>
<p class="western">“Release him and join the others,” Jon ordered, speaking loudly to be heard over the wind. Brienne and Clegane obeyed. “Kneel if you would, Lord Baelish.” Very slowly, Littlefinger knelt, legs pressing into the snow. White flakes were catching on his doublet and in his hair, contrasting against their dark colour. Jon walked to Baelish's side and pointed at Sansa.</p>
<p class="western">“Look at her,” Jon told him. Instead, he looked at his lap. Jon greeted his teeth. “Look at her.” Again Baelish refused so Jon knelt and forced the man's head to look in Sansa's direction.. “For all the things you did in her favour, you wronged her more than anyone else. Before I send you to the hell you belong in, at least do her decency of asking for forgiveness.”</p>
<p class="western">“I will not, aahhh–” Jon jerked tighltly at Baelish's hair.</p>
<p class="western">“Ask her to forgive you.”</p>
<p class="western">“Forgive me.” He began to sob. “I'm sorry San–” Again, Jon pulled on his hair.</p>
<p class="western">“That's not Sansa. That's Catelyn, isn't it. I would know my father's lady wife anywhere. You certainly should, you were childhood friends after all. I wonder what Lady Catelyn would think of you after she heard that you sold her daughter to the family that betrayed her son.” Another tug at the hair.</p>
<p class="western">“Forgive me Catelyn. Please!” The crying began. “Please. I'm sorry!”</p>
<p class="western">“No,” Sansa called from across the clearing.</p>
<p class="western">Jon stood, pulling out Longclaw as he did. The bastard sword raised high into the air and came down, cutting Littlefinger's head off the shoulder in one stroke, his headless body falling flat in the snow. As the head rolled away, Jon could not help but remember back to Harlan and how he had accepted his punishment with grace. <em>Littlefinger is not Harlan.</em></p>
<p class="western">As he wiped the blade clean on Baleish's doublet, he looked at Sansa's face expecting to see joy or reflief. Instead, it was unmoving – showing no expression whatsoever – almost as if her face were carved from stone.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>No. Not stone</em>
  <span>, Jon thought to himself, looking into Sansa's blue eyes. </span>
  <em>Ice.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Jaime IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaime receives a raven scroll.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As a heads up to those who don't know, I changed the ending of the preivous chapter after recieving some valid criticism of it from Ace_of_spies. I would reccommend everyone go and reading the end of that chapter and thank you Ace for pointing out the problems in my writing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="western">
  <b>Jaime</b>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The village looked quiet and unsuspecting, a collection of stone houses and halls bathed in the early morning light. The Gods had decided to be kind today, letting the snow stop half way through the night. By first light, the cloud broke. Pale blue sky was lit up golden sunlight as Jaime led a company of fifty men – most of them on horseback – with Bronn at his side.</p><p class="western">Jaime wore no armour, instead opting for a dark red quilted tunic decorated by two dozen lions embroidered with gold thread. Underneath the tunic he wore three separate undershirts – two made of cotton, one of wool – and underneath his thick breeches he wore two sets of thick smallclothes. Over his shoulders hung a red woolen cloak lined with cloth-of-gold. <em>If I'm going to achieve anything today, it will not be letting myself get cold.</em></p><p class="western">There had been little luck in finding Arya Stark. All the girls they'd come across that matched Arya's colouring were either too old or too young to be the she-wolf they were looking for. There was always the possibility she could be wearing a face to hide her identity.<em> And she'd be a half-wit not to if she has one she can slip on. </em>To try and solve that issue, smallfolk were asked if any of the teenage girls had arrived at village recently. There was always the possibility the answer would be a lie, but frankly it served Jaime's own personal interests all the same.</p><p class="western">And all this was ignoring the fact that Arya was most likely already far outside of the Riverlands, most likely north of them but maybe south. It had occurred to Jaime to convince Lord Arwood that, at this point, searching the Riverlands for Arya would be fruitless, but the Lord of the Crossing clearly couldn't be swayed. <em>Wherever she is, she hasn't shown her face since Ser Brendon came upon her the day after her slaughter.</em></p><p class="western">Since setting off from the Twins, Jaime had decided to keep close to the castle, never letting himself be more than a two day ride away from it. He began his search by travelling north along the east bank of the Green Fork with two hundred men, checking any villages they came upon. Once the two hundred men reached a distance that was a two day journey from the Twins for single rider, Jaime began zigzagging south east so their search area would be the shape of the right half of a circle.</p><p class="western">To search villages and other settlements outside that two day distance, Jaime sent commanders he trusted to lead groups built of two hundred men each. The reason for his want to remain close to the castle was so that he could receive any messages from King's Landing more quickly than if he were further afield. It was entirely possible – certain, even – that the Dragon Queen's army would become a threat to King's Landing and he would need to take his army back to the city as quickly as possible.</p><p class="western">As they entered the village, an old man dressed in several layers of plain clothes was the only person outside of a building, shoveling snow and piling it all on the road side, adding to the already large amount bordering the road. When Jaime got close enough to see the old man's face, his expression was blank. The company of horsemen came to stop as Jaime did.</p><p class="western">“Tell everyone in the village to wake up and line up in the street after they've broken the their fasts,” he told the old man.</p><p class="western">“What for, m'lord?” the man asked.</p><p class="western">“That is of none of you concern,” Jaime replied, not unkindly. “Just see about getting that message spread and we'll be on our way as soon as we've finished our business.”</p><p class="western">The old man shrugged, dropped his spade and <span>began</span> knocking on the doors of each of the buildings in the village. Jaime dismounted and his men followed suit. Jaime began walking through the village with Bronn, glancing here &amp; there at the people leaving their homes while snow crunched underneath their feet.</p><p class="western">“These look a miserable lot,” Bronn said dryly.</p><p class="western">“It's first thing in the morning, freezing cold and they've been asked to line up in the snow,” Jaime pointed out. “And you say that like we and our men aren't miserable as well as. I'll bet you fifty gold dragons that everyone of our men would rather be in King's Landing drinking a cup of hot spiced wine next to a generously stoked brazier.”</p><p class="western">“But you'd win that bet, so I won't take you up on it.”</p><p class="western">Jaime gave Bronn a soft smile in reply.</p><p class="western">The rest of the villagers were out of their homes and lined up along the main road very soon. In total, there was about thirty: men, woman, older children, the old man and one babe-in-arms. <em>I expect the babe and the old man will be dead before the winter's done. </em>Gathered together, everyone one of them was frowning. Jaime stood a few meters in front of them and said, “Apologies for waking you so rudely on this cold morning. Unfortunately, I must have my men search your homes and speak to your daughters.”</p><p class="western">A man stepped forward. “Is this 'bout the she-wolf who killed Old Walder?” he asked.</p><p class="western">“Yes.” Jaime saw no reason to lie.</p><p class="western">The man spat. “Our 'omes 'ave already bin searched by the new Lord Frey's men.”</p><p class="western">“Be that as it may, my men still must search this village.”</p><p class="western">The man stepped back in line, disgruntled. The smallfolk were walked out the village by soldiers who weren't searching houses. Jaime stood on the corner of two joining roads as his men went about their searching. It took up the better part of an hour and by the end nothing of note was found; just as Jaime had expected. None of the girls in the village showed any signs of being Arya Stark in the disguise. All the smallfolk were allowed to return to their homes while Jaime took his fifty men back to the camp they'd set up the previous evening.</p><p class="western">The camp was a modest thing compared to the ones they set up during the journey along the Kingsroad. It sat nestled in a clearing at the edge of a piece of woodland beside a small river that fed into the Green Fork. It served well last night. Jaime's was the first company to return to the camp out of three that had set out to search villages, leaving a fourth to man the camp. Once the other two returned searching companies returned, some rest would be allowed before they set off to find a new place to stay for the night before repeating the same routine tomorrow.</p><p class="western">One thing that Jaime had been glad for was that his company did not inherit the problem of wolves making meals out of the men sleeping at the edge of their camps. <em>Some poor lot of bastards still have to deal them though. </em>He had decided not to think on it anymore and just get on with searching. The four-legged kind were not the wolves he should be most concerned about.</p><p class="western">The first thing Jaime did after dismounting and removing the saddle off his horse was eat. He'd neglected to break his fast before setting off, wanting to get his search out of the way and done with. Two strips of bacon and a heal of bread soaked in the grease was all he let himself eat, washed down with a mug of uncomfortably cold water. The reason for having such a limited breakfast was to reduce the strain on their food stores. Searching the Riverlands was eating through food that would be put to better use feeding smallfolk.</p><p class="western">After finishing his meal, Jaime looked through two letters that not been in his tent been before he'd left. One was a report from a company patrolling a section of Kingsroad, informing Jaime no trace of Arya had been found. The second was from the Twins, a report of the news from King's Landing saying that good progress was being made on the city's defenses, making Jaime very glad that Lord Randyll had taken command after arriving from Highgarden.</p><p class="western">The rest of the day went by slowly. The last of the searching companies did not return until well into the afternoon. The reason the commanding officer gave was that some of the men in the village they searched started a fight with soldiers and then the rest of the male villages followed suit. No one died, but they had to injure some villagers and five of their own men were injured as well. Jaime ordered that the injured men be taken back to the Twins to be treated by the Maester. Because of this, they would have to stay in the same camp for the night while the injured men wer tended to initally, much to Jaime's annoyance. <em>The longer we take to sweep over the Riverlands, the longer it is before I get back to King's Landing. The only reason I can go before then is if the Dragon Queen makes for the city and that is the last thing I want to be hearing.</em></p><p class="western">If the Dragon Queen reached the city, the chances of a peaceful outcome were like to go done the privy, especially with Cersei sitting the Throne. With that in mind, Jaime was not surprised when his thoughts began to wonder to the possibility of removing her once he returned to the King's Landing. <em>I would have enough support. Everyone believes that Cersei destroyed the Sept, making herself a kinslayer and mass murderer, so no one will be loathe to see her go. </em>By the end of his line of thought, Jaime had practically decided he would commit to the course of action. <em>And I'll take Arwood and his men with me. Once I've removed Cersei, I will offer the Dragon Queen peace.</em></p><p class="western">His train of thought was interrupted when a soldier told him a rider from the Twins had arrrived. Jaime stepped outside his tent to find the sky dark and snow falling. His men huddled around campfires, pulling their cloaks tight around them. He was led to the edge of the camp facing away from the woodland where a rider in Frey colours was waiting atop his horse.</p><p class="western">“Lord Jaime,” the rider said immediately. “I've been looking for you for the last few days.</p><p class="western">“And now you've found me,” Jaime replied, voice tired. “What is it? A message?”</p><p class="western">“Yes, Lord Jaime.” The rider fumbled through his saddle bag and pulled out an opened raven scroll. “And I'm to take your reply back to the Twins to be sent.” Jaime took the scroll, annoyed that Lord Arwood had seen fit to read a message not intended for him. But then he saw the sealing wax still fixed to the edge of the paper. <em>White. Only House Stark uses white wax. </em>Jaime unrolled the scroll and read:</p><p class="western">
  <em>Ser Jaime Lannister,</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>I request audience with you at Moat Cailin. The realm is threatened by an enemy that will bring doom in its wake. Come with only one man and I promise to bring only Lady Brienne of Tarth. The garrison will be ordered to treat you as any guest and it is highly unlikely they will disobey that command. When you arrive, ask to see Ser Donald, the garrison commander. He will provide a room for you and your man.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>I am not ignorant of why you are in the Riverlands. Know that I condemn Princess Arya's actions, but only because they led to the deaths of innocent men. Please tell Lord Arwood this as well. Should you find her, please inform me so that I may be there when she is put on trial.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Jon Stark, the White Wolf, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North</em>
</p><p class="western">Jaime's mind jumped back to the dreams he'd had of Jon Stark's albino direwolf. <em>When the raven speaks of doom, head north. </em>He gave the rider back the raven scroll. “Wait here while I write my reply,” Jaime told him. Before entering his own tent, Jaime slipped inside Bronn's to tell him they would be riding to Moat Cailin.</p><p class="western">“Why?” Bronn asked, puzzled. The knight was sharpening his sword and enjoying a cup of wine.</p><p class="western">“Because the King in the North has requested to speak to me and I see no reason why I shouldn't humour him.”</p><p class="western">Jaime had a steward travelling with them write out his message and he sealed it himself with a lion pressed into gold wax. The rider took the scroll and was off. Jaime went to bed after supper, only to dream once again off the white direwolf. It didn't say anything to him, sat far to the north while Jaime ran toward it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Sansa III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bran and Meera marry each other. Sansa ruled beside her brother.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p class="western">
  <b>Sansa</b>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The bride was immaculate in her white woolen dress. She would have looked part of the scenery were it not for the green cloak she wore. Meera walked toward the Weirwood tree on her father's right arm along a path marked by lanterns, their footsteps crunching softly in the snow. Sansa smiled, both out of happiness for the bride and pride for her textile work. She'd led a group of women in the making of the dress and both cloaks. Bran sat in his wheelchair at the base of the heart tree, dressed in his smartest tunic. Sansa stood with Jon to her right, in front of the small pool at the foot of the Weirwood. Others stood with them and the opposite side of the path; to name some, Brienne, Podrick, Lord Royce, Ser Kyle, Rygle, other members of castle staff and some smallfolk who were staying in the castle. Sandor was in his chamber, as far as Sansa knew.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The Old Gods had been kind and brought the snow storm to an end not long after Baelish's beheading earlier in the day. The only emotion she remembered feeling when the traitor's head came off was relief. </span>
  <em>Now his schemes are at an end. Jon and Bran are safe.</em>
  <span> Everyone cleared out of the Godswood and Jon spoke to Rygle about preparing Littlefinger's body to be burned the next day. Afterwards, Sansa and Jon summoned Lord Royce to Jon's solar. The Vale Lord stepped inside to find Sansa stood next to Jon who sat behind his desk while Ghost sat in front of it.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Royce,” Jon began, voice clear and strong and formal.</p>
<p class="western">“King Jon, Princess Sansa.” Royce nodded to each of them when he said their name.</p>
<p class="western">“With Lord Baelish executed, the Vale has lost its Lord Protector,” Sansa said. “The two of us understand the role needs to be filled by someone of the Vale who is both competent and loyal to the crown. As such, we've decided that you will be best suited for the position.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Royce took a knee. “Your Grace, My Lady, I am honoured beyond words.”</p>
<p class="western">“Rise, Lord Royce,” Jon told him. “Your positon as Chief Military Commander is no longer necessary as it was a precaution to make sure your authority over the Knights of the Vale was secure. As such, you no longer hold the role.”</p>
<p class="western">“Very well. Is there anything else you need of me, Your Grace?”</p>
<p class="western">“That will be all.”</p>
<p class="western">Lord Royce left Jon's solar and for the rest of the day, Sansa &amp; Jon spent their day looking over reports that had arrived from each of their bannermen that Sansa had been saving for Jon to look over. People were mostly cooperating with the order to have every person trained for combat, bar a few outliers who were refusing out of stubbornness. Smallfolk were also taking kindly to being moved to safe, fortifiable buildings so that they'd be better protected when the White Walkers eventually came. Most soldiers were preparing be sent to fight the Walkers but some would be left at home to protect those staying at home. When sky grew dark outside, Jon went to Bran's chamber to help him dress while Sansa made her way to the Godswood to oversee the placement of the lanterns. Now she stood watching as Meera &amp; her father reached Bran underneath the Weirwood.</p>
<p class="western">“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Bran asked softly, beginning the ceremony.</p>
<p class="western">“Meera of House Reed comes here to be wed,” Howland replied. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”</p>
<p class="western">“Brandon of House Stark, Prince of the North. Who gives her?”</p>
<p class="western">“Howland of House Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and her father.” He looked to his daughter. “Lady Meera, will you take this man?”</p>
<p class="western">Meera's lips perked into a smile before she replied, “I take his man.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Howland stepped away as Meera pushed Bran around in his wheelchair to face the Weirwood tree. She knelt while she prayed but Bran was forced to stay sitting. Following the prayer, Meera turned her husband back around and bent down in front of him so Bran could remove her maiden cloak. It was made of wool dyed dark green with a black lizard-lion embroidered on the back. Jon took the maiden cloak from Bran and gave him the bridal cloak, which was plain white with a grey direwolf running across its back.With her new cloak on, Meera placed a kiss on Bran's lips before perching herself in his lap.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Jon pushed the two of them to the great hall and the meal they had there was not a large one. Winter rations were all that were allowed and no one complained. Sansa and Jon gave up their seats at the centre of the high table for the new married pair. A single musician from Wintertown did his best to fill the hall with music from his place sitting in the corner using a low voice, an aged woodharp and the heel of his foot. The castle inhabitants danced along to the music in the open space it's centre: the tables had stayed up against the walls after the trial.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">The musician began with the Dornishman's wife, doing his best to build the energy of the hall before moving onto Six Maids in a Pool. Jon offered to dance with Sansa and she took the offer up. <em>Baelish is gone. I can enjoy myself.</em> Just as the King and Princess began dancing, the musician transitioned into the Bear and the Maiden Fair. During her tenure on the dance floor, Sansa had Howland, Lord Royce and Ser Kyle as partners while she saw Jon with several smallfolk women. Looking around the hall, all the smallfolk men in the hall were dancing, but that left a lot of women without partners. <em>Because the rest of the men died in the war.</em> It was a somber realisation that left Sansa deflated enough to cut her dance with Winterfell's loyal Master-at-arms short.</p>
<p class="western">Returning to the high table, Meera &amp; Bran had not moved from it. It was a pity that the two of them could not dance together on their wedding night because of Bran's not being able to walk. Jon soon returned to the high table to offer Meera a dance but she politely declined. “My husband cannot dance, Your Grace,” she reasoned, “so I will not dance either.” Jon accpeted before sitting himself back in-between Sansa and Bran.</p>
<p class="western">Eventually the musician exhausted his knowledge of cheerful, fast songs that people could dance to energetically. When this happened, he spoke loudly to be heard over the crowd. “Oi, oi, everyone settle down,” he called. The crowd stopped moving and looked at him. “Now, I'm sorry to say that I've got one song left to play and it's best that the crowd be sitting silently so Prince Bran and his new wife can hear it.” The crowd sat themselves down and the musician moved to the centre of the hall. He bowed with a nod of the head to Bran &amp; Meera before saying, “This last song I sing for the pair of you.” The musician sat down, strummed the harp once before continuing with the song:</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>My featherbed is deep and soft,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>and there I'll lay you down,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>I'll dress you all in yellow silk,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>and on your head a crown.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>For you shall be my lady love,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>and I shall be your lord.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>I'll always keep you warm and safe,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>and guard you with my sword.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>And how she smiled and how she laughed,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>the maiden of the tree.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>She spun away and said to him,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>no featherbed for me.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>and bind my hair with grass,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>But you can be my forest love,</em>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>and me your forest lass.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">A few moments of silence followed the end of the song. The first person to clap was Meera, then Bran and then the rest of those in the hall. The musician stood and bowed in all directions to the people in the room. After the cheering and clapping ended, Ser Kyle was the one to stand and say loudly, “We've had our wedding, now time for the bedding.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon shot up immediately as the crowd let out a cheer. “Only if Prince Bran and Princess Meera wants it,” Jon declared, not unkindly. He looked down at his brother and good-sister while Sansa lean forward to look past Jon to see Bran and Meera's faces. The new married pair looked at each other, asking each other silently whether or not they wanted to be carried to their bed chamber by other people. After a short time of speaking quietly, the pair nodded to each other.</p>
<p class="western">Bran turned to the room and said, “Bed us!”</p>
<p class="western">Another cheer went up and Jon was quick to move while the rest of the crowd shot out of their seats. Sansa thought it would probably be good to join in as well. As she reached her brother, Jon had already gotten Meera out of her chair and over his shoulder; the bride was laughing heartily as she was carried by her good-brother. Meanwhile, Sansa got Bran's arm over her shoulder and used all her strength to get him out of his wheelchair.</p>
<p class="western">Jon was leaving the hall as the other women in the hall had gotten around the high table to help her. Meera's mother, Jyanna, helped Sansa in supporting Bran's weight while other women removed his clothes. By the time they'd gotten him to his bedchamber, he was down to his undershirt and smallclothes. The men had gotten Meera down to her undershift. She was lying on the bed waiting for Bran. Sansa settled her brother down on the bed before herding the rest of the women out of the chamber and closing the door behind her.</p>
<p class="western">Returning to her solar, Sansa had some housekeepers fill a bath. Climbing into the metal tub that sat next to the hearth, the warm water made her muscles relax and loosen. She took the time to enjoy the heat of the water before using a cloth to clean her body up and down: first her legs, second her arms, third her torso. Through the cloth, Sansa could feel the difference between normal skin and each of the different scars covering her body. It came as a surprise when Jon knocked on the door.</p>
<p class="western">“Sansa,” he said through it, “can we talk?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm bathing,” she answered.</p>
<p class="western">“Oh. I-I'll came back after you're finsihed.”</p>
<p class="western">“No. Wait.” Sansa climbed out of the tub. Water dropped from her body and onto the floor and she picked up a linen, drying herself off promptly. Tying her hair up in a messy bun, Sansa slipped on the nigthshift she'd had ready for when she left the bath. “You can come in.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon began by poking his head into the room gingerly. Once he'd confirmed that Sansa was decent, he stepped inside the room more confidently, pulling out a chair from the table and joining her in sitting at it. Jon was dressed in just his breeches and undershirt, feet bare against the hard wood floor.</p>
<p class="western">“Bran looked especially happy when I left his bedchamber,” Sansa said to begin the conversation. It made Jon smile.</p>
<p class="western">“That's good, he deserves it.” Jon inspected the floor between his feet. “He's going to be Lord of Greywater Watch when Howland dies, which means he'll be living down in the Neck.”</p>
<p class="western">“That's years away.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon nodded. “It is.” He scratched the back of his head. “But I bring it up because I'm worried about the succession of the northern crown.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa could not help but chuckle. “Your brother just got married and you're worried about who's going to wear the crown after you.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon looked her dead in the eye. “If I die without children, the crown passes to Bran. That is an incredibly likely future because of the threat of the White Walkers. I don't want to have him worrying about ruling over both the Neck and the rest of the north.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa frowned. “What are you saying?”</p>
<p class="western">“I'm saying that I'm going to make someone else my heir. Frankly, I should of done this even before I'd left for the Wall since it would've helped to protect Bran against Littlefinger.”</p>
<p class="western">“You're going to name me your heir.” She didn't need him to tell her. It was obvious. There was no one else he could name.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes. I want you to be my heir and rule the North should I die in the war against the White Walkers.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Perhaps that's the future Bran saw. I'm crowned Queen because Jon dies without any children.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you, but have you told Bran? How do you think he'll react to this news?”</p>
<p class="western">Jon sighed. “I don't think he'll care. He was occupied with looking into the past and fine with leaving you to rule while I was away, wasn't he.” Sansa nodded. “Then I don't think he'll be that annoyed by me naming you my heir.”</p>
<p class="western">“Do you plan on taking a wife?”</p>
<p class="western">Jon smirked. “I remember passively considering Alys Karstark, but she is no longer on the table. There's Lyanna Mormont, but she's six years my junior. Lord Madnerly has grandaughters that would be closer to my age and I'm sure that other lords would be more than willing to bring their daughters and grandaughters to Winterfell for me to meet them. The thing is, the idea of marrying someone I don't know isn't very appealing to me.”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa blew air out her nose, smiling. “I know the feeling.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon hummed. “I'm also not sure whether or not it's something I should be worrying about at the moment.”</p>
<p class="western">“You should,” Sansa told him. “And that's me officially advising you. If you marry and have a child with your wife, it will help in continuing our house. Bran's children are going to be named Reed under your new law, so you are only person who can continue the Stark name.”</p>
<p class="western">“Then how about we look at my options with Maester Wolkan and Lord Howland tomorrow then.”</p>
<p class="western">“Sounds like a plan.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon retired to his chamber for the night and Sansa climbed into bed for the night. She fell asleep to a soft wind beating on the window. Waking in the morning, Sansa felt well rested and ready for the day ahead of her. She brushed her hair, got into fresh clothes, buckled on her sword belt and then made her way to Jon's solar to place a knock on the door. It was opened to reveal Jon's face lit up at the sight of her before he said, “Good morning, Sansa.” The pair of them broke their fast with Brienne, Podrick &amp; Sandor; all of whom they found in the great hall.</p>
<p class="western">Jon then went off to perform his daily prayer while Sansa went with the other three to spar. Jon joined them soon, offering to duel with Sansa to see how she'd progressed during his time away. She pleasantly surpirsed him with her increased skill. While Jon won most of their duels, Sansa proved to be becoming a competent sword wielder.</p>
<p class="western">With the wind calm and the snow light, a party rode out to the Wolfswood. Sansa &amp; Jon were accompanied by a number of stewards who carried firewood and the corpse of Petyr Baelish. They found a clearing close to edge, amoung the many sentinel and pine trees that populated the woods. Here the stewards arranged the pyre, placing Littlefinger's body on the wooden pile. Sansa held the torch as a steward striked it with a flint &amp; steel. The new flame lit the straw tinder and soon the pyre was burning in earnest. She watched the fire grow in height &amp; felt its temperature rise, the snow around the pyre melting. Happy that it would burn until only ashes remained, she handed the torch to one of the stewards and remounted her horse. “Come Jon,” she told her brother. “We've given him more time than he deserves.” Jon told the stewards to remain with the fire for a little longer before they were to return to Winterfell. He mounted up and the two Starks rode back home without sharing any words.</p>
<p class="western">Jon did not waste his first whole day back after his trip to the Wall. The first thing he did was follow the advice Sansa had given him yesterday forming his Kingsguard out of Brienne, Sandor and Podrick. To be a member, a person didn't need to be a knight, only a competent sword wielder. After that Jon, Sansa, Howland and Rygle spoke at length about preparing the castle to accomodate all the smallfolk in Wintertown. At some point in the future the townspeople would need to take refuge in Winterfell as it would be safer for them than staying in their homes. Howland proved to be every competent and easy to smile when jokes were made.</p>
<p class="western">Thankfully, work on the trench was able to resume. Sansa spent some time with Jon walking around the castle, speaking to the workmen who were digging. She pointed out to Jon that she ordered that all the displaced earth be piled up in the shape of a horseshoe north of the castle, the Kingsroad separating two halves and the curve of the shoe being closer to Winterfell. Sansa had thought of it as a extra defense: the wights would have to go far around it, climb over it or bottleneck themselves to travel along the road. Jon told Sansa it was a good idea and mentioned that he hadn't even noticed it because it looked a natuarl set of hills.</p>
<p class="western">Evening saw Sansa, Jon, Bran and Meera supping together in Sansa's solar. The stew was thin, the ale thick. Conversation occurred mainly between Jon and Bran, the younger sharing all that he'd found in his time searching the past. Bran become rather gloomy when he told Jon, “I saw the Wall fall.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon's face dropped. “Do you know when it will happen?”</p>
<p class="western">“I don't even know if it will happen.” Bran pulled up his right sleeve. “Regardless, we should assume it will.” He showed Jon &amp; Sansa a large bruise on his forearm. “This is the Night King's mark. It allows him to know exactly where I am.” He pulled his sleeve back down. “I strongly recommend that when you call the banners, you bring them here instead of the Wall. Call the Night's Watch as well. I saw them fleeing Castle Black in my vision and it will be better if they are already here.”</p>
<p class="western">“Is there anything else you can tell me about this vision?”</p>
<p class="western">“I...” Bran swallowed. “I saw an ice dragon.” A chill travelled up Sansa's spine.</p>
<p class="western">“What did it look like?”</p>
<p class="western">“Like a normal dragon talked about in the history book and the ones Daenerys Stormborn has, though it's body was cover in shards of ice instead of scales. And it was huge. I've seen Daenerys' dragons during my search and the ice dragon was bigger than the three of them combined.”</p>
<p class="western">An uneasy silence remained in the room until Bran &amp; Meera left, having finished eating.</p>
<p class="western">Almost two weeks passed. In that time, Jon being home proved to be a blessing. Given she was no longer ruling in his place, the tasks Sansa needed to complete were significantly less. During court, Sansa noticed Jon did not receive as much abuse from petitioners as she had when giving them answers they didn't like. <em>They respect him more</em>, Sansa thought was a possibility. <em>Or they fear him more. That I couldn't blame them for.</em></p>
<p class="western">When he wasn't with Sansa, Jon was with Bran in the Wierwood throne chamber. It would be the two of them alone for hours on end as they would ask Meera to leave. She would either train in the yard or spend time with Sansa, helping her with royal duties; it seemed only appropriate given that Meera was now a princess after marrying Bran. It was also good time for the two of them to bond as good-sisters. They hadn't talked much despite how long Meera had been in Winterfell and it wouldn't do well if they didn't have a strong relationship.</p>
<p class="western">One strange thing to happen was Jon drafting a pardon order for Lady Melisandre. Sansa watched as he scratched the writing onto parchment with a quill and could not help but ask why.</p>
<p class="western">“Because Ser Donald has orders to put her in shackles and bring her here if she enters the Neck,” Jon told Sansa. “She cannot help us if I have to execute her.”</p>
<p class="western">“But she murdered a child.”</p>
<p class="western">“And Jaime Lannister fought against our family in the War fo the Five Kings. I cannot pick and choose who fights beside me in the war against the White Walkers. The living are the living and we all must fight against the dead...... It also means that whatever I must do concerning Arya will happen after the White Walkers are defeated.”</p>
<p class="western">“Are you saying you aren't going have her killed?”</p>
<p class="western">His hand froze. “Yes. She will be punished but it will not be death. As much as what she did is certainly justice for the Red Wedding, I will not have innocents dying for crimes they didn't commit.”</p>
<p class="western">At the end of that two weeks, Sansa began her day with porridge for breakfast and a warm bath. She scrubbed her skin red raw then dried off, dressing in a tunic with the grey direwolf of Stark running on the back of it. She dressed her hair into a northern style. Her tiara went a atop her head, her swordbelt went around her waist and her cloak went over her shoulders. Sansa walked the corridors to the rookery tower, making the ascent up the exterior stairs. Her entrance was greeted by Maester Wolkan looking up from a large book and saying, “Good morning, My Lady.”</p>
<p class="western">“Good morning, Maester Wolkan,” Sansa replied. “Are there any raven scrolls for myself or His Grace?”</p>
<p class="western">“One came in the night, Princess.” He held it out to her so she could pluck from his fingers. The wax was gold with a lion pressed into it, the name of who it was intended for – Jon Stark – was written on the outside.</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you, Maester. I will be sure His Grace gets this.”</p>
<p class="western">She left before anymore words could be shared. <em>Where would he be? </em>Sansa walked back down the stairs and into the keep. She first went to Jon's Solar: he wasn't there. She checked the great hall: he wasn't there. Passing through the main courtyard, Sansa saw Sandor and Podrick but not Brienne. Arriving at the archway entering the Godswood, she asked the guard with the thick black beard, “Is His Grace, praying?”</p>
<p class="western">“He is My Lady,” the guard replied.</p>
<p class="western">Sansa gave the guard a soft nod before venturing into the Godswood. The trees towered into the air, the ground &amp; leaves pure white. Snow fell softly but quick. As she reached the clearing at the centre, Brienne stood guard at the edge. The two women exchanged greetings as Sansa passed.</p>
<p class="western">Heading toward the heart tree, for a moment Sansa thought she saw her father sitting in front of it, Ice across his lap, rubbing its blade with an oiled cloth. But in an instant her mind realised it was Jon: Longclaw instead of Ice &amp; a whetstone instead of a cloth. As she approached, a pair of red dots appeared by Jon's feet and soon Ghost was running toward her. She knelt, wrapping her arms around the direwolf's neck before receiving a wet cheek in return. Jon chuckled from his perch at the foot of the Weirwood. Sansa got back on her feet, walking the rest of the way toward him. She stopped two metres from the tree, Ghost sitting by her side.</p>
<p class="western">“You look so much like father sitting there,” Sansa told him warmly, fiddling with the scroll in her hands. “I remember once when I was eight, I came to him after he'd beheaded a man and found him hear cleaning Ice.”</p>
<p class="western">“And what did you talk about?” Jon asked.</p>
<p class="western">“I asked him why he always came here after seeing justice done. He told me that he did it to be at peace. Taking a man's life was always hard on him, regardless of the fact they'd committed a crime.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon nodded. “And did he ever tell you why he needed to do it himself?”</p>
<p class="western">“The man who passes the sentences should swing the sword, though I suppose the same would hold true if a woman passed the sentence.”</p>
<p class="western">Jon regarded her warmly. “Do you think you'd be able to?”</p>
<p class="western">Sansa nodded. “Yes. Should I ever be standing judgement over someone, I would take their life if I thought I needed to.” Looking into her hand, she remembered why she'd come looking for Jon and handed him the scroll.</p>
<p class="western">Jon cracked the gold wax. His eyes flicked over the words and he let out a small relieved sigh.</p>
<p class="western">“So he's going to speak with you?”</p>
<p class="western">“He is.”</p>
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